THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 


Books  by 
ARNOLD  BENNETT 

The  Price  of  Love.     Ill'd.     Post  8vo net  $1.35 

Your  United  States.     Ill'd.     Crown  8vo ..  net    2.00 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


[See  page  211 


Che  forgot   that   she   had  been    steeling   herself 
against  him. 


THE 
PRICErOF  LOVE 


BY 

ARNOLD  BENNETT 

AUTHOR  OF 

"YOUR    UNITED    STATES" 

"THE  OLD  WIVES'  TALE  " 

"BURIED  alive" 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

C.  E.  CHAMBERS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEWYORK   AND    LONDON 

MCMXIV 


♦ 


?v 


COPYRIGHT.    1914.    BY   HARPER  a    BROTHERS 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 

PUBLISHED    MAY.     1914 

D-O 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  Money  in  the  House i 

II.  Louis'  Discovery 42 

III.  The  Feast 54 

IV.  In  the  Night 72 

V.  News  of  the  Night 104 

VI.  Theories  of  the  Theft 121 

VII.  The  Cinema 155 

VIII.  End  and  Beginning 187 

IX.  The  Married  Woman 217 

X.  The  Chasm 239 

XI.  Julian's  Document 273 

XII.  Runaway  Horses 293 

XIII.  Dead-lock 331 

XIV.  The  Market 345 

XV.  The  Changed  Man 360 

XVI.  The  Letter 371 

XVII.  In  the  Monastery     *.....- 386 

XVIII.  Mrs.  Tams's  Strange  Behavior' 402 

XIX.  Rachel  and  Mr.  Horrocleave 414 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

She  Forgot  that  She  had  been  Steeling  Herself 

AGAINST  HlM  " Frontispiece 

Against  the  Background  of  the  Aged  Pair  She 

Seemed  Dramatically  Young Facing  p.  30 

Holding  His  Head  Back  as  He  Marched    ....       ' '         66 

As  She  Entered  He  Let  the  Notes  Drop  into  the 

Littered  Grate "         98 

"Don't  Ye  Go  and  Throw  Yeself  Away.    Keep 

Out  o'  Mischief" M       182 

A  Figure  was  Moving  Quickly  Down  Moorthorne 

Road       '  *       236 

She   Perceived  that  She   was  the   One   Person 

Capable  of  Understanding  Julian     ....       '*       288 

He  was  Climbing  Rather  Stiffly  Up  the  Steps  .       "       298 

The  Expression  of  His  Face  Changed  in  an  In- 
stant to  One  of  Benevolence  and  Artless  Joy      "       350 


f 


PART   I 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 


i 

MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 


IN  the  evening  dimness  of  old  Mrs.  Maldon's 
sitting-room  stood  the  youthful  virgin,  Rachel 
Louisa  Fleckring.  The  prominent  fact  about  her 
appearance  was.tthat  she  wore  an  apron.  Not  one 
of  those  white,  waist-tied  aprons,  with  or  without 
bibs,  worn  proudly,  uncompromisingly,  by  a  previous 
generation  of  unaspiring  housewives  and  housegirls! 
But  an  immense  blue  pinafore-apron,  covering  the 
whole  front  of  the  figure  except  the  head,  hands,  and 
toes.  Its  virtues  were  that  it  fully  protected  the 
most  fragile  frock  against  all  the  perils  of  the  kitchen ; 
and  that  it  could  be  slipped  on  or  off  in  one  second, 
without  any  manipulation  of  tapes,  pins,  or  buttons 
and  buttonholes — f or  it  had  no  fastenings  of  any  sort 
and  merely  yawned  behind.  In  one  second  the 
drudge  could  be  transformed  into  the  elegant  infanta 
of  boudoirs,  and  vice  versa.  To  suit  the  coquetry  of 
the    age  "the   pinafore   was   enriched   with   certain 


THE    P'R:I€.E    OF    LOVE 

flouncings,  which,  however,  only  intensified  its  un- 
shapen  ugliness. 

On  a  plain  middle-aged  woman  such  a  pinafore 
would  have  been  intolerable  to  the  sensitive  eye. 
But  on  Rachel  it  simply  had  a  piquant  and  perverse 
air,  because  she  was  young,  with  the  incomparable, 
the  unique  charm  of  comely  adolescence;  it  simply 
excited  the  imagination  to  conceive  the  exquisite 
treasures  of  contour  and  tint  and  texture  which  it 
veiled.  Do  not  infer  that  Rachel  was  a  coquette. 
Although  comely,  she  was  homely — a  " downright' ' 
girl,  scorning  and  hating  all  manner  of  pretentious- 
ness. She  had  a  fine  best  dress,  and  when  she  put 
it  on  everybody  knew  that  it  was  her  best;  a  stranger 
would  have  known.  Whereas  of  a  coquette  none  but 
her  intimate  companions  can  say  whether  she  is 
wearing  best  or  second-best  on  a  given  high  occasion. 
Rachel  used  the  pinafore-apron  only  with  her  best 
dress,  and  her  reason  for  doing  so  was  the  sound, 
sensible  reason  that  it  was  the  usual  and  proper 
thing  to  do. 

She  opened  a  drawer  of  the  new  Sheraton  side- 
board, and  took  from  it  a  metal  tube  that  imitated 
brass,  about  a  foot  long  and  an  inch  in  diameter, 
covered  with  black  lettering.  This  tube,  when  she 
had  removed  its  top,  showed  a  number  of  thin  wax 
tapers  in  various  colors.  She  chose  one,  lit  it  neatly 
at  the  red  fire,  and  then,  standing  on  a  footstool  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  stretched  all  her  body  and 
limbs  upward  in  order  to  reach  the  gas.  If  the  tap 
had  been  half  an  inch  higher  or  herself  half  an  inch 
shorter,  she  would  have  had  to  stand  on  a  chair 
instead  of  a  footstool;  and  the  chair  would  have  had 
to  be  brought  out  of  the  kitchen — and  carried  back 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

again.  But  Heaven  had  watched  over  this  detail. 
The  gas-fitting  consisted  of  a  flexible  pipe,  resembling 
a  thick  black  cord,  and  swinging  at  the  end  of  it  a 
specimen  of  that  wonderful  and  blessed  contrivance, 
the  inverted  incandescent  mantle  within  a  porcelain 
globe:  the  whole  recently  adopted  by  Mrs.  Maldon 
as  the  dangerous  final  word  of  modern  invention. 
It  was  safer  to  ignite  the  gas  from  the  orifice  at  the 
top  of  the  globe;  but  even  so  there  was  always  a 
mild  disconcerting  explosion,  followed  by  a  few  mo- 
ments '  uncertainty  as  to  whether  or  not  the  gas  had 
1 '  lighted  properly.  ■ ' 

When  the  deed  was  accomplished  and  the  room 
suddenly  bright  with  soft  illumination,  Mrs.  Maldon 
murmured : 

"That's  better!" 

She  was  sitting  in  her  arm-chair  by  the  glitteringly 
set  table,  which,  instead  of  being  in  the  center  of 
the  floor  under  the  gas,  had  a  place  near  the  bow- 
window — advantageous  in  the  murky  daytime  of  the 
Five  Towns,  and  inconvenient  at  night.  The  table 
might  well  have  been  shifted  at  night  to  a  better 
position  in  regard  to  the  gas.  But  it  never  was. 
Somehow  for  Mrs.  Maldon  the  carpet  was  solid 
concrete,  and  the  legs  of  the  table  immovaby  em- 
bedded therein. 

Rachel,  gentle-footed,  kicked  the  footstool  away 
to  its  lair  under  the  table,  and  simultaneously  ex- 
tinguished the  taper,  which  she  dropped  with  a 
scarce  audible  click  into  a  vase  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Then  she  put  the  cover  on  the  tube  with  another 
faintest  click,  restored  the  tube  to  its  drawer  with  a 
rather  louder  click,  and  finally,  with  a  click  still 
louder,  pushed  the  drawer  home.     All  these  slight 

3 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

sounds  were  familiar  to  Mrs.  Maldon;  they  were 
part  of  her  regular  night  life,  part  of  an  unconsciously 
loved  ritual,  and  they  contributed  in  their  degree  to 
her  placid  happiness. 

"Now  the  blinds,  my  dear!"  said  she. 

The  exhortation  was  ill-considered,  and  Rachel 
controlled  a  gesture  of  amicable  impatience.  For 
she  had  not  paused  after  closing  the  drawer;  she  was 
already  on  her  way  across  the  room  to  the  window 
when  Mrs.  Maldon  said,  "Now  the  blinds,  my  dear!" 
The  fact  was  that  Mrs.  Maldon  measured  the  time 
between  the  lighting  of  gas  and  the  drawing  down  of 
blinds  by  tenths  of  a  second — such  was  her  fear  lest 
in  that  sinister  interval  the  whole  prying  town  might 
magically  gather  in  the  street  outside  and  peer  into 
the  secrets  of  her  inculpable  existence. 


ii 

When  the  blinds  and  curtains  had  been  arranged 
for  privacy,  Mrs.  Maldon  sighed  securely  and  picked 
up  her  crocheting.  Rachel  rested  her  hands  on  the 
table,  which  was  laid  for  a  supper  for  four,  and  asked 
in  a  firm,  frank  voice  whether  there  was  anything 
else. 

"Because,  if  not,"  Rachel  added,  "111  just  take 
off  my  pinafore  and  wash  my  hands." 

Mrs.  Maldon  looked  up  benevolently  and  nodded 
in  quick  agreement.  It  was  such  apparently  trifling 
gestures,  eager  and  generous,  that  endeared  the  old 
lady  to  Rachel,  giving  her  the  priceless  sensation  of 
being  esteemed  and  beloved.  Her  gaze  lingered  on 
her  aged  employer  with  affection  and  with  profound 
respect.     Mrs.  Maldon  made  a  striking,  tall,  slim 

4 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

figure,  sitting  erect  in  tight  black,  with  the  right  side 
of  her  long  prominent  nose  in  the  full  gaslight  and 
the  other  heavily  shadowed.  Her  hair  was  absolutely 
black  at  over  seventy;  her  eyes  were  black  and 
glowing,  and  she  could  read  and  do  coarse  crocheting 
without  spectacles.  All  her  skin,  especially  round 
about  the  eyes,  was  yellowish  brown  and  very  deeply 
wrinkled  indeed;  a  decrepit,  senile  skin,  which  seemed 
to  contradict  the  youth  of  her  pose  and  her  glance. 
The  cast  of  her  features  was  benign.  She  had  passed 
through  desolating  and  violent  experiences,  and  then 
through  a  long,  long  period  of  withdrawn  tranquillity; 
and  from  end  to  end  of  her  life  she  had  consistently 
thought  the  best  of  all  men,  refusing  to  recognize 
evil  and  assuming  the  existence  of  good.  Every  one 
of  the  millions  of  her  kind  thoughts  had  helped  to 
mold  the  expression  of  her  countenance.  The  ex- 
pression was  definite  now,  fixed,  intensely  character- 
istic after  so  many  decades,  and  wherever  it  was 
seen  it  gave  pleasure  and  by  its  enchantment 
created  goodness  and  good  will  —  even  out  of  their 
opposites.  Such  was  the  life-work  of  Mrs.  Mal- 
don. 

Her  eyes  embraced  the  whole  room.  They  did  not, 
as  the  phrase  is,  "beam"  approval;  for  the  act  of 
beaming  involves  a  sort  of -ecstasy,  and  Mrs.  Maldon 
was  too  dignified  for  ecstasy.  But  they  displayed  a 
mild  and  proud  contentment  as  she  said: 

"I'm  sure  it's  all  very  nice." 

It  was.  The  table  crowded  with  porcelain,  crystal, 
silver,  and  flowers,  and  every  object  upon  it  casting 
a  familiar  curved  shadow  on  the  whiteness  of  the 
damask  toward  the  window !  The  fresh  crimson  and 
blues  of  the  everlasting  Turkey  carpet  (Turkey  car- 

5 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

pet  being  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  carpetry  in  the  Five 
Towns,  when  that  carpet  was  bought,  just  as  seal- 
skin was  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  all  furs) !  The  silken- 
polished  sideboard,  strange  to  the  company,  but 
worthy  of  it,  and  exhibiting  a  due  sense  of  its  high 
destiny !  The  somber  bookcase  and  corner  cupboard, 
darkly  glittering!  The  Chesterfield  sofa,  broad, 
accepting,  acquiescent!  T£e  flashing  brass  fender 
and  copper  scuttle!  «  The^OmfoptfelJly  reddish  walls, 
with  their  pictures — like  limpets  on  the  face  of 
precipices !  The  new- whitened  ceiling !  In  the  midst 
the  incandescent  lamp  that  hung  like  the  moon  in 
Heaven!  .  .  .  And  then  the  young,  sturdy  girl, 
standing  over  the  old  woman  and  breathing  out  the 
very  breath  of  life,  vitalizing  everything,  rejuvenating 
the  old  woman ! 

Mrs.  Maldon's  sitting-room  had  a  considerable 
renown  among  her  acquaintance  not  only  for  its 
peculiar  charm,  which  combined  and  reconciled  the 
tastes  of  two  very  different  generations,  but  also  for 
its  radiant  cleanness.  There  are  many  clean  houses 
in  the  Five  Towns,  using  the  adjective  in  the  relative 
sense  in  which  the  Five  Towns  is  forced  by  chimneys 
to  use  it.  But  Mrs.  Maldon's  sitting-room  (save  for 
the  white  window-curtains,  which  had  to  accept  the 
common  gray  fate  of  white  window-curtains  in  the 
district)  was  clean  in  the  country-side  sense,  almost 
in  the  Dutch  sense.  The  challenge  of  its  cleanness 
gleamed  on  every  polished  surface,  victorious  in  the 
unending  battle  against  the  horrible  contagion  of 
foul  industries.  Mrs.  Maldon's  friends  would  assert 
that  the  state  of  that  sitting-room  " passed' '  them, 
or  "fair  passed' '  them,  and  she  would  receive  their 
ever-amazed  compliments  with  modesty.     But  be- 

6 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

hind  her  benevolent  depreciation  she  would  be 
blandly  saying  to  herself:  "Yes,  I'm  scarcely  sur-  , 
prised  it  passes  you — seeing  the  way  you  housewives 
let  things  go  on  here."  The  word  "here"  would  be 
faintly  emphasized  in  her  mind,  as  no  native  would 
have  emphasized  it. 

Rachel  shared  the  general  estimate  of  the  sitting- 
room.  She  appreciated  its  charm,  and  admitted  to 
herself  that  her  first  vision  of  it,  rather  less  than  a 
month  before,  had  indeed  given  her  a  new  and 
startling  ideal  of  cleanliness.  On  that  occasion  it 
had  been  evident,  from  Mrs.  Maldon's  physical 
exhaustion,  that  the  housemis tress  had  made  an 
enormous  personal  effort  to  dazzle  and  inspire  her  new 
"lady  companion,"  which  effort,  though  detected 
and  perhaps  scorned  by  Rachel,  had  nevertheless 
succeeded  in  its  aim.  With  a  certain  presence  of 
mind  Rachel  had  feigned  to  remark  nothing  miracu- 
lous in  the  condition  of  the  room.  Appropriating  the 
new  ideal  instantly,  she  had  on  the  first  morning  of 
her  service  "turned  out"  the  room  before  breakfast, 
well  knowing  that  it  must  have  been  turned  out  on 
the  previous  day.  Dumbfounded  for  a  few  moments, 
Mrs.  Maldon  had  at  length  said,  in  her  sweet  and 
cordial  benevolence:  "I'm  glad  to  see  we  think  alike 
about  cleanliness."  And  Rachel  had  replied  with  an 
air  at  once  deferential,  sweet,  and  yet  casual:  "Oh, 
of  course,  Mrs.  Maldon!"  Then  they  measured 
one  another  in  a  silent  exchange.  Mrs.  Maldon 
was  aware  that  she  had  by  chance  discovered  a 
pearl — yes,  a  treasure  beyond  pearls.  And  Rachel, 
too,  divined  the  high  value  of  her  employer,  and 
felt  within  the  stirrings  of  a  passionate  loyalty  to 
her. 

7 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

in 

And  yet,  during  the  three  weeks  and  a  half  of  their 
joint  existence,  Rachel's  estimate  of  Mrs.  Maldon 
had  undergone  certain  subtle  modifications. 

At  first,  somewhat  overawed,  Rachel  had  seen 
in  her  employer  the  Mrs.  Maldon  of  the  town's 
legend,  which  legend  had  traveled  to  Rachel  as  far 
as  Knype,  whence  she  sprang.  That  is  to  say,  one 
of  the  great  ladies  of  Bursley,  ranking  in  the  popular 
regard  with  Mrs.  Clayton- Vernon,  the  leader  of 
society,  Mrs.  Sutton,  the  philanthropist,  and  Mrs. 
Hamps,  the  powerful  religious  bully.  She  had  been 
impressed  by  her  height  (Rachel  herself  being  no 
lamp-post),  her  carriage,  her  superlative  dignity,  her 
benevolence  of  thought,  and  above  all  by  her  aristo- 
cratic Southern  accent.  After  eight-and-forty  years 
of  the  Five  Towns  Mrs.  Maldon  had  still  kept  most 
of  that  Southern  accent — so  intimidating  to  the 
rough  broad  talkers  of  the  district,  who  take  revenge 
by  mocking  it  among  themselves,  but  for  whom  it 
will  always  possess  the  thrilling  prestige  of  high  life. 

And  then  day  by  day  Rachel  had  discovered  that 
great  ladies  are,  after  all,  human  creatures,  strangely 
resembling  other  human  creatures.  And  Mrs.  Mal- 
don slowly  became  for  her  an  old  woman  of  seventy- 
two,  with  unquestionably  wondrous  hair,  but  failing 
in  strength  and  in  faculties;  and  it  grew  merely 
pathetic  to  Rachel  that  Mrs.  Maldon  should  force 
herself  always  to  sit  straight  upright.  As  for  Mrs. 
Maldon's  charitableness,  Rachel  could  not  deny  that 
she  refused  to  think  evil,  and  yet  it  was  plain  that 
at  bottom  Mrs.  Maldon  was  not  much  deceived  about 
people:  in  which  apparent  inconsistency  there  hid 

8 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

a  slight  disturbing  suggestion  of  falseness  that  myste- 
riously fretted  the  downright  Rachel. 

Again,  beneath  Mrs.  Maldon's  modesty  concern- 
ing the  merits  of  her  sitting-room  Rachel  soon  fancied 
that  she  could  detect  traces  of  an  ingenuous  and 
possibly  senile  ' 'house-pride,"  which  did  more  than 
fret  the  lady  companion;  it  faintly  offended  her. 
That  one  should  be  proud  of  a  possession  or  of  an 
achievement  was  admissible,  but  that  one  should 
fail  to  conceal  the  pride  absolutely  was  to  Rachel, 
with  her  Five  Towns  character,  a  sign  of  weakness,  a 
sign  of  the  soft  South.  Lastly,  Mrs.  Maldon  had,  it 
transpired,  her  "ways";  for  example,  in  the  matter 
of  blinds  and  in  the  matter  of  tapers.  She  would 
actually  insist  on  the  gas  being  lighted  with  a  taper; 
a  paper  spill,  which  was  just  as  good  and  better, 
seemed  to  ruffle  her  benign  placidity;  and  she  was 
funnily  economical  with  matches.  Rachel  had  never 
seen  a  taper  before,  and  could  not  conceive  where  the 
old  lady  managed  to  buy  the  things. 

In  short,  with  admiration  almost  undiminished, 
and  with  a  rapidly  growing  love  and  loyalty,  Rachel 
had  arrived  at  the  point  of  feeling  glad  that  she,  a 
mature,  capable,  sagacious,  and  strong  woman,  was 
there  to  watch  over  the  last  years  of  the  waning  and 
somewhat  peculiar  old  lady. 

Mrs.  Maldon  did  not  see  the  situation  from  quite 
the  same  angle.  She  did  not,  for  example,  consider 
herself  to  be  in  the  least  peculiar;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  very  normal  woman.  She  had  always  used 
tapers;  she  could  remember  the  period  when  every- 
one used  tapers.  In  her  view  tapers  were  far  more 
genteel  and  less  dangerous  than  the  untidy,  flaring 
spill,   which  she  abhorred  as  a  vulgarity.     As  for 

9 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

matches,  frankly  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  her 
to  waste  a  match  when  fire  was  available.  In  the 
matter  of  her  sharp  insistence  on  drawn  blinds  at 
night,  domestic  privacy  seemed  to  be  one  of  the 
fundamental  decencies  of  life — simply  that!  And  as 
for  house-pride,  she  considered  that  she  locked  away 
her  fervent  feeling  for  her  parlor  in  a  manner  mar- 
velous and  complete. 

No  one  could  or  ever  would  guess  the  depth  of  her 
attachment  to  that  sitting-room,  nor  the  extent  to 
which  it  engrossed  her  emotional  life.  And  yet  she 
had  only  occupied  the  house  for  fourteen  years  out 
of  the  forty-five  years  of  her  widowhood,  and  the 
furniture  had  at  intervals  been  renewed  (for  Mrs. 
Maldon  would  on  no  account  permit  herself  to  be 
old-fashioned).  Indeed,  she  had  had  five  different 
sitting-rooms  in  five  different  houses  since  her  hus- 
band's death.  No  matter —  They  were  all  the  same 
sitting-room,  all  rendered  identical  by  the  mysterious 
force  of  her  dreamy  meditations  on  the  past.  And, 
moreover,  sundry  important  articles  had  remained 
constant  to  preserve  unbroken  the  chain  that  linked 
her  to  her  youth.  The  table  which  Rachel  had  so 
nicely  laid  was  the  table  at  which  Mrs.  Maldon  had 
taken  her  first  meal  as  mistress  of  a  house.  Her 
husband  had  carved  mutton  at  it,  and  grumbled 
about  the  consistency  of  toast ;  her  children  had  spilt 
jam  on  its  cloth.  And  when  on  Sunday  nights  she 
wound  up  the  bracket-clock  on  the  mantelpiece,  she 
could  see  and  hear  a  handsome  young  man  in  a  long 
frock-coat  and  a  large  shirt-front  and  a  very  thin 
black  tie  winding  it  up  too — her  husband — on  Sun- 
day nights.  And  she  could  Simultaneously  see  an- 
other handsome  young  man  winding  it  up — her  son. 

19 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

Her  pictures  were  admired. 

"Your  son  painted  this  water-color,  did  he  not, 
Mrs.  Maldon?" 

"Yes,  my  son  Athelstan." 

"How  gifted  he  must  have  been!" 

"Yes,  the  best  judges  say  he  showed  very  remark- 
able promise.     It's  fading,  I  fear.     I  ought  to  cover 
it  up,  but  somehow  I  can't  fancy  covering  it  up — " 

The  hand  that  had  so  remarkably  promised  had 
lain  moldering  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  Mrs. 
Maldon  sometimes  saw  it,  fleshless,  on  a  cage-like 
skeleton  in  the  dark  grave.  The  next  moment  she 
would  see  herself  tending  its  chilblains. 

And  if  she  was  not  peculiar,  neither  was  she 
waning.  No!  Seventy- two — but  not  truly  old! 
How  could  she  be  truly  old  when  she  could  see,  hear, 
walk  a  mile  without  stopping,  eat  anything  what- 
ever, and  dress  herself  unaided?  And  that  hair  of 
hers!  Often  she  was  still  a  young  wife,  or  a  young 
widow.  She  was  not  preparing  for  death;  she  had 
prepared  for  death  in  the  seventies.  She  expected 
to  live  on  in  calm  satisfaction  through  indefinite 
decades.  She  savored  life  pleasantly,  for  its  daily 
security  was  impregnable.     She  had  forgotten  grief. 

When  she  looked  up  at  Rachel  and  benevolently 
nodded  to  her,  she  saw  a  girl  of  fine  character,  abso-t: 
lutely  trustworthy,  very  devoted,  very  industriouS, 
very  capable,  intelligent,  cheerful — in  fact,  a  splendid 
girl,  a  girl  to  be  enthusiastic  about!  But  such  a 
mere  girl!  A  girl  with  so  much  to  learn!  So  pa- 
thetically young  and  inexperienced  and  positive  and 
sure  of  herself!  The  looseness  of  her  limbs,  the  un- 
conscious abrupt  freedom  of  her  gestures,  the  wavi- 
ness  of  her  auburn  hair,  the  candor  of  her  glance,  the 

ii 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

warmth  of  her  indignation  against  injustice  and 
dishonesty,  the  capricious  and  sensitive  flo wings  of 
blood  to  her  smooth  cheeks,  the  ridiculous  wise  corn- 
pressings  of  her  lips,  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  rich  and 
innocent  bosom — these  phenomena  touched  Mrs. 
Maldon  and  occasionally  made  her  want  to  cry. 

Thought  she:  "I  was  never  so  young  as  that  at 
twenty-two!  At  twenty-two  I  had  had  -Mary!" 
The  possibility  that  in  spite  of  having  had  Mary 
(who  would  now  have  been  fifty,  but  for  death)  she 
had  as  a  fact  been  approximately  as  young  as  that 
at  twenty-two  did  not  ever  present  itself  to  the 
waning  and  peculiar  old  lady.  She  was  glad  that 
she,  a  mature  and  profoundly  experienced  woman 
in  full  possession  of  all  her  faculties,  was  there  to 
watch  over  the  development  of  the  lovable,  affec- 
tionate, and  impulsive  child. 

IV 

"Oh!  Here's  the  paper,  Mrs.  Maldon,"  said 
Rachel,  as,  turning  away  to  leave  the  room,  she  caught 
sight  of  the  extra-special  edition  of  the  Signal,  which 
lay  a  pale  green  on  the  dark  green  of  the  Chesterfield. 

Mrs.  Maldon  answered,  placidly: 

"When  did  you  bring  it  in?  I  never  heard  the 
boy  come.  But  my  hearing's  not  quite  what  it  used 
to  be,  that's  true.  Open  it  for  me,  my  dear.  I  can't 
stretch  my  arms  as  I  used  to." 

She  was  one  of  the  few  women  in  the  Five  Towns 
who  deigned  to  read  a  newspaper  regularly,  and  one 
of  the  still  fewer  who  would  lead  the  miscellaneous 
conversation  of  drawing-rooms  away  from  domestic 
chatter  and  discussions  of  individualities,  to  political 

12 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

and  municipal  topics  and  even  toward  general  ideas. 
She  seldom  did  more  than  mention  a  topic  and  then 
express  a  hope  for  the  best,  or  explain  that  this 
phenomenon  was  "such  a  pity,"  or  that  phenomenon 
"such  a  good  thing,' '  or  that  about  another  phe- 
nomenon "one  really  didn't  know  what  to  think." 
But  these  remarks  sufficed  to  class  her  apart  among 
her  sex  as  "a  very  up-to-date  old  lady;  with  a  broad 
outlook  upon  the  world,"  and  to  inspire  sundry  other 
ladies  with  a  fearful  respect  for  her  masculine  intellect 
and  judgment.  She  was  aware  of  her  superiority, 
and  had  a  certain  kind  disdain  for  the  increasing 
number  of  women  who  took  in  a  daily  picture-paper, 
and  who,  having  dawdled  over  its  illustrations  after 
breakfast,  spoke  of  what  they  had  seen  in  the 
"newspaper."  She  would  not  allow  that  a  picture- 
paper  was  a  newspaper. 

Rachel  stood  in  the  empty  space  under  the  gas. 
Her  arms  were  stretched  out  and  slightly  upward  as 
she  held  the  Signal  wide  open  and  glanced  at  the 
newspaper,  frowning.  The  light  fell  full  on  her 
coppery  hair.  Her  balanced  body,  though  masked 
in  front  by  the  perpendicular  fall  of  the  apron  as 
she  bent  somewhat  forward,  was  nevertheless  the 
image  of  potential  vivacity  and  energy;  it  seemed 
almost  to  vibrate  with  its  own  consciousness  of 
physical  pride. 

Left  alone,  Rachel  would  never  have  opened  a 
newspaper,  at  any  rate  for  the  news.  Until  she 
knew  Mrs.  Maldon  she  had  never  seen  a  woman  read 
a  newspaper  for  aught  except  the  advertisements 
relating  to  situations,  houses,  and  pleasures.  But, 
much  more  than  she  imagined,  she  was  greatly  under 
the  influence  of  Mrs.  Maldon.     Mrs.  Maldon  made 

x3 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

a  nightly  solemnity  of  the  newspaper,  and  Rachel 
naturally  soon  persuaded  herself  that  it  was  a  fine 
and  a  superior  thing  to  read  the  newspaper — a  proof 
of  unusual  intelligence.  Moreover,  just  as  she  felt 
bound  to  show  Mrs.  Maldon  that  her  notion  of 
cleanliness  was  as  advanced  as  anybody's,  so  she  felt 
bound  to  indicate,  by  an  appearance  of  casualness, 
that  for  her  to  read  the  paper  was  the  most  customary 
thing  in  the  world.  Of  course  she  read  the  paper! 
And  that  she  should  calmly  look  at  it  herself  before 
handing  it  to  her  mistress  proved  that  she  had  already 
established  a  very  secure  position  in  the  house. 

She  said,  her  eyes  following  the  lines,  and  her  feet 
moving  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Maldon : 

"Those  burglaries  are  still  going  on.  .  .  .  Hillport 
now!" 

"Oh,  dear,  dear!"  murmured  Mrs.  Maldon,  as 
Rachel  spread  the  newspaper  lightly  over  the  tea- 
tray  and  its  contents:  "Oh,  dear,  dear!  I  do  hope 
the  police  will  catch  some  one  soon.  I'm  sure  they're 
doing  their  best,  but  really — !" 

Rachel  bent  with  confident  intimacy  over  the  old 
lady's  shoulder,  and  they  read  the  burglary  column 
together,  Rachel  interrupting  herself  for  an  instant 
to  pick  up  Mrs.  Maldon's  ball  of  black  wool  which 
had  slipped  to  the  floor.  The  Signal  reporter  had 
omitted  none  of  the  classic  cliches  proper  to  the 
subject,  and  such  words  and  phrases  as  "jemmy," 
"effected  an  entrance,"  "the  servant  now  thoroughly 
alarmed,"  "stealthy  footsteps,"  "escaped  with  their 
booty,"  seriously  disquieted  both  of  the  women — 
caused  a  sudden  sensation  of  sinking  in  the  region  of 
the  heart.  Yet  neither  would  put  the  secret  fear  into 
speech,  for  each  by  instinct  felt  that  a  fear  once 

id 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

uttered  is  strengthened  and  made  more  real.  Living 
solitary  and  unprotected  by  male  sinews,  in  a  house 
which,  though  it  did  not  stand  alone,  was  somewhat 
withdrawn  from  the  town,  they  knew  themselves  the 
ideal  prey  of  conventional  burglars  with  masks,  dark 
lanterns,  revolvers,  and  jemmies.  They  were  grouped 
together  like  some  symbolic  sculpture,  and  with  all 
their  fortitude  and  common  sense  they  still  in  un- 
conscious attitude  expressed  the  helpless  and  resigned 
fatalism  of  their  sex  before  certain  menaces  of  bodily 
danger,  the  thrilled,  expectant  submission  of  women 
in  a  city  about  to  be  sacked. 

Nothing  could  save  them  if  the  peril  entered  the 
house.  But  they  would  not  say  aloud:  ''Suppose 
they  came  here!  How  terrible !"  They  would  not 
even  whisper  the  slightest  apprehension.  They  just 
briefly  discussed  the  matter  with  a  fine  air  of  in- 
different aloofness,  remaining  calm  while  the  brick 
walls  and  the  social  system  which  defended  that 
bright  and  delicate  parlor  from  the  dark,  savage 
universe  without  seemed  to  crack  and  shiver. 

Mrs.  Maldon,  suddenly  noticing  that  one  blind  was 
half  an  inch  short  of  the  bottom  of  the  window,  rose 
nervously  and  pulled  it  down  farther. 

"Why  didn't  you  ask  me  to  do  that?"  said  Rachel, 
thinking  what  a  fidgety  person  the  old  lady  was. 

Mrs.  Maldon  replied: 

"It's  all  right,  my  dear.  Did  you  fasten  the 
window  on  the  up-stairs  landing  ?" 

"As  if  burglars  would  try  to  get  in  by  an  up-stairs 
window — and  on  the  street !"  thought  Rachel,  pity- 
ingly impatient.  "However,  it's  her  house,  and  I'm 
paid  to  do  what  I'm  told,"  she  added  to  herself,  very 
sensibly.     Then  she  said,  aloud,  in  a  soothing  tone: 

15 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"No,  I  didn't.     But  I  will  do  it." 

She  moved  toward  the  door,  and  at  the  same 
moment  a  knock  on  the  front  door  sent  a  vibration 
through  the  whole  house.  Nearly  all  knocks  on  the 
front  door  shook  the  house;  and  further,  burglars 
do  not  generally  knock  as  a  preliminary  to  effecting 
an  entrance.  Nevertheless,  both  women  started — 
and  were  ashamed  of  starting. 

"Surely  he's  rather  early!"  said  Mrs.  Maldon  with 
an  exaggerated  tranquillity. 

And  Rachel,  with  a  similar  lack  of  conviction  in 
her  calm  gait,  went  audaciously  forth  into  the  dark 
lobby. 


On  the  glass  panels  of  the  front  door  the  street- 
lamp  threw  a  faint,  distorted  shadow  of  a  bowler 
hat,  two  rather  protruding  ears,  and  a  pair  of  long 
outspreading  whiskers  whose  ends  merged  into  broad 
shoulders.  Anyone  familiar  with  the  streets  of 
Bursley  would  have  instantly  divined  that  Councilor 
Thomas  Batchgrew  stood  between  the  gas-lamp  and 
the  front  door.  And  even  Rachel,  whose  acquain- 
tance with  Bursley  was  still  slight,  at  once  recognized 
the  outlines  of  the  figure.  She  had  seen  Councilor 
Batchgrew  one  day  conversing  with  Mrs.  Maldon  in 
Moorthorne  Road,  and  she  knew  that  he  bore  to 
Mrs.  Maldon  the  vague  but  imposing  relation  of 
"trustee." 

There  are  many — indeed,  perhaps  too  many — 
remarkable  men  in  the  Five  Towns.  Thomas  Batch- 
grew  was  one  of  them.  He  had  begun  life  as  a  small 
plumber  in  Bursley  market-place,  living  behind  and 
above  the  shop,  and  begetting  a  considerable  family 

16 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

which  exercised  itself  in  the  back  yard  among  empty 
and  full  turpentine-cans.  The  original  premises  sur- 
vived, as  a  branch  establishment,  and  Batchgrew's 
latest-married  grandson  condescended  to  reside  on 
the  first  floor,  and  to  keep  a  motor-car  and  a  tri-car 
in  the  back  yard,  now  roofed  over  (in  a  manner  not 
strictly  conforming  to  the  building  by-laws  of  the 
borough).  All  Batchgrew's  sons  and  daughters  were 
married,  and  several  of  his  grandchildren  also.  And 
all  his  children,  and  more  than  one  of  the  grand- 
children kept  motor-cars.  Not  a  month  passed  but 
some  Batchgrew,  or  some  Batchgrew's  husband  or 
child,  bought  a  motor-car,  or  sold  one,  or  exchanged 
a  small  one  for  a  larger  one,  or  had  an  accident,  or 
was  gloriously  fined  in  some  distant  part  of  the 
country  for  illegal  driving.  Nearly  all  of  them  had 
spacious  detached  houses,  with  gardens  and  gar- 
deners, and  patent  slow-combustion  grates,  and 
porcelain  bathrooms  comprising  every  appliance  for 
luxurious  splashing.  And,  with  the  exception  of  one 
son  who  had  been  assisted  to  Valparaiso  in  order  that 
he  might  there  seek  death  in  the  tankard  without 
outraging  the  family,  they  were  all  teetotalers — 
because  the  old  man,  "old  Jack,"  was  a  teetotaler. 
The  family  pyramid  was  based  firm  on  the  old  man. 
The  numerous  relatives  held  closely  together  like  an 
alien  oligarchical  caste  in  a  conquered  country.  If 
they  ever  did  quarrel  it  must  have  been  in  private. 
The  principal  seat  of  business — electrical  appara- 
tus, heating  apparatus,  and  decorating  and  plumbing 
on  a  grandiose  scale — in  Hanbridge,  had  over  its 
immense  windows  the  sign:  "John  Batchgrew  & 
Sons."  The  sign  might  well  have  read:  "John 
Batchgrew  &   Sons,    Daughters,    Daughters-in-law, 

2  17 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Sons-in-law,  Grandchildren,  and  Great-grandchil- 
dren/ '  The  Batchgrew  partners  were  always  tender- 
ing for,  and  often  winning,  some  big  contract  or  other 
for  heating  and  lighting  and  embellishing  a  public 
building  or  a  mansion  or  a  manufactory.  (They  by 
no  means  confined  their  activities  to  the  Five  Towns, 
having  an  address  in  London — and  another  in  Val- 
paraiso.) And  small  private  customers  were  ever 
complaining  of  the  inaccuracy  of  their  accounts  for 
small  jobs.  People  who,  in  the  age  of  Queen  Vic- 
toria's earlier  widowhood,  had  sent  for  Batchgrew  to 
repair  a  burst  spout,  still  by  force  of  habit  sent  for 
Batchgrew  to  repair  a  burst  spout,  and  still  had  to 
"call  at  Batchgrew's"  about  mistakes  in  the  bills, 
which  mistakes,  after  much  argument  and  assevera- 
tion, were  occasionally  put  right.  In  spite  of  their 
prodigious  expenditures,  and  of  a  certain  failure  on 
the  part  of  the  public  to  understand  "where  all  the 
money  came  from,"  the  financial  soundness  of  the 
Batchgrews  was  never  questioned.  In  discussing 
the  Batchgrews  no  bank-manager  and  no  lawyer 
had  ever  by  an  intonation  or  a  movement  of  the 
eyelid  hinted  that  earthquakes  had  occurred  before 
in  the  history  of  the  world  and  might  occur  again. 
And  yet  old  Batchgrew — admittedly  the  cleverest 
of  the  lot,  save  possibly  the  Valparaiso  soaker — could 
not  be  said  to  attend  assiduously  to  business.  He 
scarcely  averaged  two  hours  a  day  on  the  premises 
at  Hanbridge.  Indeed,  the  staff  there  had  a  sense  of 
the  unusual,  inciting  to  unusual  energy  and  devotion, 
when  word  went  round :  ' '  Guv'nor's  in  the  office  with 
Mr.  John."  The  Councilor  was  always  extremely 
busy  with  something  other  than  his  main  enterprise. 
It   was  now  reported,   for  example,   that  he  was 

18 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

clearing  vast  sums  out  of  picture-palaces  in  Wigan 
and  Warrington.  Also  he  was  a  religionist,  being 
Chairman  of  the  local  Church  of  England  Village 
Mission  Fund.  And  he  was  a  politician,  powerful  in 
municipal  affairs.  And  he  was  a  reformer,  who 
believed  that  by  abolishing  beer  he  could  abolish  the 
poverty  of  the  poor — and  acted  accordingly.  And 
lastly  he  liked  to  enjoy  himself. 

Everybody  knew  by  sight  his  flying  white  whiskers 
and  protruding  ears.  And  he  himself  was  well  aware 
of  the  steady  advertising  value  of  those  whiskers — 
of  always  being  recognizable  half  a  mile  off.  He  met 
everybody  unflinchingly,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  in- 
vulnerable at  all  points  and  sure  of  a  magnificent 
obituary.  He  was  invariably  treated  with  marked 
deference  and  respect.  But  he  was  not  an  honest 
man.  He  knew  it.  All  his  family  knew  it.  In 
business  everybody  knew  it  except  a  few  nincom- 
poops. Scarcely  any  one  trusted  him.  The  peculiar 
fashion  in  which,  when  he  was  not  present,  people 
"old  Jacked' '  him, — this  alone  was  enough  to  con- 
demn a  man  of  his  years.  Lastly,  everybody  knew 
that  most  of  the  Batchgrew  family  was  of  a  piece 
with  its  head. 

VI 

Now  Rachel  had  formed  a  prejudice  against  old 
Batchgrew.  She  had  formed  it,  immutably,  in  a 
single  second  of  time.  One  glance  at  him  in  the 
street — and  she  had  tried  and  condemned  him, 
according  to  the  summary  justice  of  youth.  She 
was  in  that  stage  of  plenary  and  unhesitating  wisdom 
when  one  not  only  can,  but  one  must,  divide  the 
whole  human  rage  sharply  into  two  categories,  the 

J9 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

sheep  and  the  goats;  and  she  had  sentenced  old 
Batchgrew  to  a  place  on  the  extreme  left.  It  hap- 
pened that  she  knew  nothing  against  him.  But  she 
did  not  require  evidence.  She  simply  did  "not  like 
that  man" — (she  italicized  the  end  of  the  phrase 
bitingly  to  herself) — and  there  was  no  appeal  against 
the  verdict.  Angels  could  not  have  successfully 
interceded  for  him  in  the  courts  of  her  mind.  He 
never  guessed,  in  his  aged  self-sufficiency,  that  his 
case  was  hopeless  with  Rachel,  nor  even  that  the 
child  had  dared  to  have  any  opinion  about  him  at  all. 

She  was  about  to  slip  off  the  pinafore-apron  and 
drop  it  onto  the  oak  chest  that  stood  in  the  lobby. 
But  she  thought  with  defiance:  "Why  should  I  take 
my  pinafore  off  for  him?  I  won't.  He  sha'n't  see 
my  nice  frock.  Let  him  see  my  pinafore.  I  am  an 
independent  woman,  earning  my  own  living,  and  why 
should  I  be  ashamed  of  my  pinafore?  My  pinafore 
is  good  enough  for  him!"  She  also  thought:  "Let 
him  wait!"  And  went  off  into  the  kitchen  to  get  the 
modern  appliance  of  the  match  for  lighting  the  gas 
in  the  lobby.  When  she  had  lighted  the  gas  she 
opened  the  front  door  with  audacious  but  nervous 
deliberation,  and  the  famous  character  impatiently 
walked  straight  in.  He  wore  prominent  loose  black 
kid  gloves  and  a  thin  black  overcoat. 

Looking  coolly  at  her,  he  said : 

"So  you're  the  new  lady  companion,  young  miss! 
Well,  I've  heard  rare  accounts  on  ye — rare  accounts 
on  ye!     Missis  is  in,  I  reckon." 

His  voice  was  extremely  low,  rich,  and  heavy.  It 
descended  on  the  silence  like  a  thick  lubricating  oil 
that  only  reluctantly  abandons  the  curves  in  which 
it  fell. 

20 


» 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

And  Rachel  answered,  faintly,  tremulously: 

"Yes/1 

No  longer  was  she  the  independent  woman,  cen- 
sorious and  scornful,  but  a  silly,  timid  little  thing. 
Though  she  condemned  herself  savagely  for  school- 
girlishness,  she  could  do  nothing  to  arrest  the  swift 
change  in  her.  The  fact  was,  she  was  bashed,  partly 
by  the  legendary  importance  of  the  renowned  Batch- 
grew,  but  more  by  his  physical  presence.  His  mere 
presence  was  always  disturbing;  for  when  he  super- 
vened into  an  environment  he  had  always  the  air  of 
an  animal  on  a  voyage  of  profitable  discovery.  His 
nose  was  an  adventurous  sniffing  nose,  a  true  nose, 
which  exercised  the  original  and  proper  functions  of 
a  nose  noisily.  His  limbs  were  restless,  his  boots 
like  hoofs.  His  eyes  were  as  restless  as  his  limbs,  and 
seemed  ever  to  be  seeking  for  something  upon  which 
they  could  definitely  alight,  and  not  finding  it.  He 
performed  eructations  with  the  disarming  natural- 
ness of  a  baby.  He  was  tall  but  not  stout,  and  yet 
he  filled  the  lobby ;  he  was  the  sole  fact  in  the  lobby, 
and  it  was  as  though  Rachel  had  to  crush  herself 
against  the  wall  in  order  to  make  room  for  him. 

His  glance  at  Rachel  now  became  inquisitive, 
calculating.  It  seemed  to  be  saying:  "One  day  I 
may  be  able  to  make  use  of  this  piece  of  goods." 
But  there  was  a  certain  careless  good  humor  in  it, 
too.  What  he  saw  was  a  naive  young  maid,  with 
agreeable  features,  and  a  fine,  fresh  complexion,  and 
rather  reddish  hair.  (He  did  not  approve  of  the 
color  of  the  hair.)  He  found  pleasure  in  regarding 
her, ,  and  in  the  perception  that  he  had  abashed  her. 
Yes,  he  liked  to  see  her  timid  and  downcast  before 
him.     He  was  an  old  man,  but  like  most  old  men — 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

such  as  statesmen — who  have  lived  constantly  at  the 
full  pressure  of  following  their  noses,  he  was  also  a 
young  man.  He  creaked,  but  he  was  not  gravely 
impaired. 

''Is  it  Mr.  Batchgrew?,,  Rachel  softly  murmured 
the  unnecessary  question,  with  one  hand  on  the  knob 
ready  to  open  the  sitting-room  door. 

He  had  flopped  his  stiff  flat-topped  felt  hat  on  the 
oak  chest,  and  was  taking  off  his  overcoat.  He 
paused  and,  lifting  his  chin — and  his  incredible  white 
whiskers  with  it — gazed  at  Rachel  almost  steadily  for 
a  couple  of  seconds. 

"It  is,"  he  said,  as  it  were  challengingly — "it  is, 
young  miss." 

Then  he  finished  removing  his  overcoat  and  thrust 
it  roughly  down  on  the  hat. 

Rachel  blushed  as  she  modestly  turned  the  knob 
and  pushed  the  door  so  that  he  might  pass  in  front 
of  her. 

"Here's  Mr.  Batchgrew,  Mrs.  Maldon,"  she  an- 
nounced, feebly  endeavoring  to  raise  and  clear  her 
voice. 

"Bless  us!"  The  astonished  exclamation  of  Mrs. 
Maldon  was  heard. 

And  Councilor  Batchgrew,  with  his  crimson  shiny 
face,  and  the  vermilion  rims  round  his  unsteady  eyes, 
and  his  elephant  ears,  and  the  absurd  streaming  of 
his  white  whiskers,  and  his  multitudinous  noisiness, 
and  his  black  kid  gloves,  strode  half  theatrically  past 
her,  sniffling. 

To  Rachel  he  was  an  object  odious,  almost  obscene. 
In  truth,  she  had  little  mercy  on  old  men  in  general, 
who  as  a  class  struck  her  as  fussy,  ridiculous,  and 
repulsive.     And  beyond  all  the  old  men  she  had  ever 

22 


M09$EY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

seen,  she  disliked  Councilor  Batchgrew.  And  about 
Councilor  Batchgrew  what  she  most  detested  was, 
perhaps  strangely,  his  loose,  wrinkled  black  kid 
gloves.  They  were  ordinary,  harmless  black  kid 
gloves,  but  she  counted  them  against  him  as  a 
supreme  offense. 

"Conceited,  self-conscious,  horrid  old  brute !"  she 
thought,  discreetly  drawing  the  door  to,  and  then 
going  into  the  kitchen.  "He's  interested  in  nothing 
and  nobody  but  himself.' '  She  felt  protective  to- 
wards Mrs.  Maldon,  that  simpleton  who  apparently 
could  not  see  through  a  John  Batchgrew!  ...  So 
Mrs.  Maldon  had  been  giving  him  good  accounts  of 
the  new  lady  companion,  had  she ! 

VII 

"Well,  Lizzie  Maldon,' '  said  Councilor  Batchgrew 
as  he  crossed  the  sitting-room,  "how  d'ye  find  your- 
self? .  .  .  Sings!"  he  went  on,  taking  Mrs.  Maldon's 
hand  with  a  certain  negligence  and  at  the  same  time 
fixing  an  unfriendly  eye  on  the  gas. 

Mrs.  Maldon  had  risen  to  welcome  him  with  the 
punctilious  warmth  due  to  an  old  gentleman,  a 
trustee,  and  a  notability.  She  told  him  as  to  her 
own  health  and  inquired  about  his.  But  he  ignored 
her  smooth  utterances,  in  the  ardor  of  following  his 
nose. 

"Sings  worse  than  ever!  Very  unhealthy,  too! 
Haven't  I  told  ye  and  told  ye?  You  ought  to  let  me 
put  electricity  in  for  you.  It  isn't  as  if  it  wasn't 
your  own  house.  .  .  .  Pay  ye!  Pay  ye  over  and  over 
again!" 

He  sat  down  in  a  chair  by  the  table,  drew  off  his 

23 


THE    PRICE    OF  -flfcVE 

loose  black  gloves,  and  after  letting  them  hover  irres- 
olutely over  the  encumbered  table,  deposited  them 
for  safety  in  the  china  slop-basin. 

"I  dare  say  you're  quite  right,' '  said  Mrs.  Maldon 
with  grave  urbanity.  "But  really  gas  suits  me  very 
well.  And  you  know  the  gas-manager  complains  so 
much  about  the  competition  of  electricity.  Truly  it 
does  seem  unfair,  doesn't  it,  as  they  both  belong  to 
the  town!  If  I  gave  up  gas  for  electricity  I  don't 
think  I  could  look  the  poor  man  in  the  face  at  church. 
And  all  these  changes  cost  money!  How  is  dear 
Enid?" 

Mr.  Batchgrew  had  now  stretched  out  his  legs  and 
crossed  one  over  the  other;  and  he  was  twisting  his 
thumbs  on  his  diaphragm. 

"Enid?  Oh!  Enid!  Well,  I  did  hear  she's  able 
to  nurse  the  child  at  last."  He  spoke  of  his  grand- 
daughter-in-law  as  of  one  among  a  multiplicity  of 
women  about  whose  condition  vague  rumors  reached 
him  at  intervals. 

Mrs.  Maldon  breathed  fervently: 

"I'm  so  thankful!  What  a  blessing  that  is, 
isn't  it?" 

"As  for  costing  money,  Elizabeth,"  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  proceeded,  "you'll  be  all  right  now  for  money." 
He  paused,  sat  up  straight  with  puffings,  and  leaned 
sideways  against  the  table.  Then  he  said,  half 
fiercely : 

"I've  settled  up  th'  Brougham  Street  mortgage." 

"You  don't  say  so!"    Mrs.  Maldon  was  startled. 

"I  do!" 

"When?" 

"To-day." 

"Well—" 

24 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 


" That's  what  I  stepped  in  for." 

Mrs.  Maldon  feebly  murmured,  with  obvious 
emotion : 

"You  can't  imagine  what  a  relief  it  is  to  me!" 
Tears  shone  in  her  dark  mild  eyes. 

"Look  ye!"  exclaimed  the  trustee,  curtly. 

He  drew  from  his  breast  pocket  a  bank  envelope 
of  linen,  and  then,  glancing  at  the  table,  pushed  cups 
and  saucers  abruptly  away  to  make  a  clear  space  on 
the  white  cloth.  The  newspaper  slipped  rustling  to 
the  floor  on  the  side  near  the  window.  Already  his 
gloves  were  abominable  in  the  slop-basin,  and  now 
with  a  single  gesture  he  had  destroyed  the  symmetry 
of  the  set  table.  Mrs.  Maldon  with  surpassing 
patience  smiled  sweetly,  and  assured  herself  that  Mr. 
Batchgrew  could  not  help  it.  He  was  a  coarse  male 
creature  at  large  in  a  room  highly  feminized.  It  was 
his  habit  thus  to  pass  through  orderly  interiors,  dis- 
tributing havoc,  like  a  rough  soldier.  You  might 
almost  hear  a  sword  clanking  in  the  scabbard. 

"Ten,  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty,  sixty,"  he  began 
in  his  heavily  rolling  voice  to  count  out  one  by  one 
a  bundle  of  notes  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
envelope.  He  generously  licked  his  thick,  curved- 
back  thumb  for  the  separating  of  the  notes,  and  made 
each  note  sharply  click,  in  the  manner  of  a  bank 
cashier,  to  prove  to  himself  that  it  was  not  two  notes 
stuck  together.  "...  Five-seventy,  five-eighty,  five- 
ninety,  six  hundred.  These  are  all  tens.  Now  the 
fives:  Five,  ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  twenty-five."  He 
counted  up  to  three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  ' '  That's 
nine-sixty-five  altogether.  The  odd  sixty-five's  ar- 
rear  of  interest.  I'm  investing  nine  hundred  again 
to-morrow,  and  th'  interest  on  th'  new  investment  is 

25 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

to  start  from  th'  first  o'  this  month.  So  instead  of 
being  out  o'  pocket,  you'll  be  in  pocket,  missis.' ' 

The  notes  lay  in  two  irregular  filmy  heaps  on  the 
table. 

Having  carefully  returned  the  empty  envelope  to 
his  pocket,  Mr.  Batchgrew  sat  back,  triumphant,  and 
his  eye  met  the  delighted  and  yet  disturbed  eye  of 
Mrs.  Maldon,  and  then  wavered  and  dodged. 

Mr.  Batchgrew,  with  all  his  romantic  qualities, 
lacked  any  perception  of  the  noble  and  beautiful  in 
life,  and  it  could  be  positively  asserted  that  his 
estimate  of  Mrs.  Maldon  was  chiefly  disdainful. 
But  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  secret  opinion  about  John 
Batchgrew  nothing  could  be  affirmed  with  certainty. 
Nobody  knew  it  or  ever  would  know  it.  I  doubt 
whether  Mrs.  Maldon  had  whispered  it  even  to 
herself.  In  youth  he  had  been  the  very  intimate 
friend  of  her  husband.  Which  fact,  would  scarcely 
tally  with  Mrs.  Maldon's  memory  of  her  husband  as 
the  most  upright  and  perspicacious  of  men — unless 
on  the  assumption  that  John  Batchgrew's  real  char- 
acteristics had  not  properly  revealed  themselves  until 
after  his  crony's  death;  this  assumption  was  perhaps 
admissible.  Mrs.  Maldon  invariably  spoke  of  John 
Batchgrew  with  respect  and  admiration.  She  prob- 
ably had  perfect  confidence  in  him  as  a  trustee,  and 
such  confidence  was  justified,  for  the  Councilor  knew 
as  well  as  anybody  in  what  fields  rectitude  was  a 
remunerative  virtue,  and  in  what  fields  it  was  not. 

Indeed,  as  a  trustee  his  sense  of  honor  and  of  duty 
was  so  nice  that  in  order  to  save  his  ward  from  loss 
in  connection  with  a  depreciating  mortgage  security, 
he  had  invented,  as  a  Town  Councilor,  the  "Improve- 
ment" known  as  the  "Brougham  Street  Scheme." 

26 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 


If  this  was  not  said  outright,  it  was  hinted.  At  any 
rate,  the  idea  was  fairly  current  that  had  not  Coun- 
cilor Batchgrew  been  interested  in  Brougham  Street 
property,  the  Brougham  Street  Scheme,  involving 
the  compulsory  purchase  of  some  of  that  property  at 
the  handsome  price  naturally  expected  from  the 
munificence  of  corporations,  would  never  have  come 
into  being. 

Mrs.  Maldon  knew  of  the  existence  of  the  idea, 
which  had  been  obscurely  referred  to  by  a  licensed 
victualer  (inimically  prejudiced  against  the  tee- 
totaler in  Mr.  Batchgrew)  at  a  Council  meeting 
reported  in  the  Signal.  And  it  was  precisely  this 
knowledge  which  had  imparted  to  her  glance  the 
peculiar  disturbed  quality  that  had  caused  Mr. 
Batchgrew  to  waver  and  dodge. 

The  occasion  demanded  the  exercise  of  unflinching 
common  sense,  and  Mrs.  Maldon  was  equal  to  it. 
She  very  wisely  decided  that  she  ought  not  to  concern 
herself,  and  could  not  concern  herself,  with  an  aspect 
of  the  matter  which  concerned  her  trustee  alone. 
And  therefore  she  gave  her  heart  entirely  up  to  an 
intense  gladness  at  the  integral  recovery  of  the 
mortgage  money. 

For  despite  her  faith  in  the  efficiency  of  her 
trustee,  Mrs.  Maldon  would  worry  about  finance; 
she  would  yield  to  an  exquisitely  painful  dread  lest 
"anything  should  happen' ' — happen,  that  is,  to 
prevent  her  from  dying  in  the  comfortable  and 
dignified  state  in  which  she  had  lived.  Her  income 
was  not  large — a  little  under  three  hundred  pounds 
a  year — but  with  care  it  sufficed  for  her  own  wants, 
and  for  gifts,  subscriptions,  and  an  occasional  car- 
riage.    There  would  have  been  a  small  margin,  but 

27 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

for  the  constant  rise  in  prices.  As  it  was  there  was 
no  permanent  margin.  And  to  have  cut  off  a  single 
annual*  subscription,  or  lessened  a  single  customary- 
gift,  would  have  mortally  wounded  her  pride.  The 
gradual  declension  of  property  values  in  Brougham 
Street  had  been  a  danger  that  each  year  grew  more 
menacing.  The  moment  had  long  ago  come  when 
the  whole  rents  of  the  mortgaged  cottages  would  not 
cover  her  interest.  The  promise  of  the  Corporation 
Improvement  Scheme  had  only  partially  reassured 
her;  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  She  could  not 
believe  without  seeing.  She  now  saw,  suddenly, 
blindingly.  And  her  relief,  beneath  that  stately 
deportment  of  hers,  was  pathetic  in  its  simple  in- 
tensity. It  would  have  moved  John  Batchgrew,  had 
he  been  in  any  degree  susceptible  to  the  thrill  of 
pathos. 

"I  doubt  if  I've  seen  so  much  money  all  at  once, 
before,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  smiling  weakly. 

"Happen  not!"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew,  proud,  with 
insincere  casualness,  and  he  added  in  exactly  the 
same  tone,  "I'm  leaving  it  with  ye  to-night." 

Mrs.  Maldon  was  aghast,  but  she  feigned  sprightli- 
ness  as  she  exclaimed : 

"You're  not  leaving  all  this  money  here  to-night?" 

"I  am,"  said  the  trustee.  "That's  what  I  came 
for.  Evans's  were  three  hours  late  in  completing, 
and  the  bank  was  closed.  I  have  but  just  got  it. 
I'm  not  going  home."  (He  lived  eight  miles  off,  near 
Axe.)  "I've  got  to  go  to  a  church-meeting  at  Red 
Cow,  and  I'm  sleeping  there.  John's  Ernest  is 
calling  here  for  me  presently.  I  don't  fancy  driving 
over  them  moors  with  near  a  thousand  pun  in  my 
pocket — and  colliers  out  on  strike — not  at  my  age, 

28 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 


missis!  If  you  don't  know  what  Red  Cow  is,  I 
reckon  I  do.  It's  your  money.  Put  it  in  a  drawer 
and  say  nowt,  and  I'll  fetch  it  to-morrow.  What  '11 
happen  to  it,  think  ye,  seeing  as  it  hasn't  got  legs?" 

He  spoke  with  the  authority  of  a  trustee.  And 
Mrs.  Maldon  felt  that  her  reputation  for  sensible 
equanimity  was  worth  preserving.  So  she  said, 
bravely : 

"I  suppose  it  will  be  all  right." 

"Of  course!"  snapped  the  trustee,  patronizingly. 

"But  I  must  tell  Rachel." 

"Rachel?  •Rachel?  Oh!  Her!  Why  tell  any 
one?"     Mr.  Batchgrew  sniffed  very  actively. 

"Oh!  I  shouldn't  be  easy  if  I  didn't  tell  Rachel," 
insisted  Mrs.  Maldon  with  firmness. 

Before  the  trustee  could  protest  anew  she  had 
rung  the  bell. 

VIII 

It  was  another  and  an  apronless  Rachel  that 
entered  the  room,  a  Rachel  transformed,  magnificent 
in  light  green  frock  with  elaborate  lacy  ruchings  and 
ornamentations,  and  the  waist  at  the  new  fashionable 
height.  Her  ruddy  face  and  hands  were  fresh  from 
water,  her  hair  very  glossy  and  very  neat:  she  was 
in  high  array.  This  festival  attire  Mrs.  Maldon  now 
fully  beheld  for  the  first  time.  It  indeed  honored 
herself,  for  she  had  ordained  a  festive  evening;  but 
at  the  same  time  she  was  surprised  and  troubled  by 
it.  As  for  Mr.  Batchgrew,  he  entirely  ignored  the 
vision.  Stretched  out  in  one  long  inclined  plane 
from  the  back  of  his  chair  down  to  the  brass  fender, 
he  contemplated  the  fire,  while  picking  his  teeth  with 
a  certain  impatience,  and  still  sniffing  actively.    The 

29 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

girl  resented  this  disregard.  But,  though  she  re- 
mained hostile  to  the  grotesque  old  man  with  his 
fussy  noises,  the  mantle  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  moral 
protection  was  now  over  Councilor  Batchgrew,  and 
Rachel's  mistrustful  scorn  of  him  had  lost  some  of 
its  pleasing  force. 

"Rachel— " 

Mrs.  Maldon  gave  a  hesitating  cough. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Maldon?"  said  Rachel,  questioningly 
deferential,  and  smiling  faintly  into  Mrs.  Maldon's 
apprehensive  eyes.  Against  the  background  of  the 
aged  pair  she  seemed  dramatically  young,  lithe, 
living,  and  wistful.  She  was  nervous,  but  she 
thought  with  strong  superiority:  "What  are  those  old 
folks  planning  together  ?     Why  do  they  ring  for  me  ?? 

At  length  Mrs.  Maldon  proceeded: 

"I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  dear,  Mr.  Batchgrew 
is  obliged  to  leave  this  money  in  my  charge  to-night.' ' 

"What  money?"  asked  Rachel. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  put  in  sharply,  drawing  up  his  legs : 

"This!  .  .  .  Here,  young  miss!  Step  this  way,  if 
ye  please.  I'll  count  it.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty — " 
With  new  lickings  and  clickings  he  counted  the  notes 
all  over  again.  "There!"  When  he  had  finished 
his  pride  had  become  positively  naive. 

"Oh,  my  word!"  murmured  Rachel,  awed  and 
astounded. 

"It  is  rather  a  lot,  isn't  it?"  said  Mrs.  Maldon, 
with  a  timid  laugh. 

At  once  fascinated  and  repelled,  the  two  women 
looked  at  the  money  as  at  a  magic.  It  represented 
to  Mrs.  Maldon  a  future  free  from  financial  em- 
barrassment ;  it  represented  to  Rachel  more  than  she 
could  earn  in  half  a  century  at  her  wage  of  eighteen 

30 


Against  the  background  of  the  aged  pair  she  seemed 
dramatical  1v  von  nor 


l  dramatically  young. 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

pounds  a  year,  an  unimaginable  source  of  endless 
gratifications;  and  yet  the  mere  fact  that  it  was  to 
stay  in  the  house  all  night  changed  it  for  them  into 
something  dire  and  formidable,  so  that  it  inspired 
both  of  them — the  ancient  dame  and  the  young  girl 
— with  naught  but  a  mystic  dread.  Mr.  Batchgrew 
eyed  the  affrighted  creatures  with  satisfaction,  ap- 
pearing to  take  a  perverse  pleasure  in  thus  imposing 
upon  them  the  horrid  incubus. 

"I  was  only  thinking  of  burglars,"  said  Mrs. 
Maldon,  apologetically.  "  There' ve  been  so  many 
burglaries  lately — M  She  ceased,  uncertain  of  her 
voice.  The  forced  lightness  of  her  tone  was  almost 
tragic. 

" There  won't  be  any  more,"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew, 
condescendingly. 

"Why?"  demanded  Mrs.  Maldon  with  an  eager 
smile  of  hope.  "Have  they  caught  them,  then? 
Has  Superintendent  Snow — " 

"They  have  their  hands  on  them.  To-morrow 
there'll  be  some  arrests,"  Mr.  Batchgrew  answered, 
exuding  authority.  For  he  was  not  merely  a  Town 
Councilor,  he  was  brother-in-law  to  the  Superin- 
tendent of  the  Borough  Police.  "Caught  'em  long 
ago  if  th'  county  police  had  been  a  bit  more  reliable!" 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Maldon  breathed  happily.  "I  knew 
it  couldn't  be  Mr.  Snow's  fault.  I  felt  sure  of  that. 
I'm  so  glad." 

And  Rachel  also  was  conscious  of  gladness.  In 
fact,  it  suddenly  seemed  plain  to  both  women  that 
no  burglar,  certain  of  arrest  on  the  morrow,  would 
dare  to  invade  the  house  of  a  lady  whose  trustee  had 
married  the  sister  of  the  Superintendent  of  Police. 
The  house  was  invisibly  protected. 

3i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"And  we  mustn't  forget  we  shall  have  a  man  sleep- 
ing here  to-night/ '  said  Rachel,  confidently. 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  I  was  quite  overlooking 
that!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maldon. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  threw  a  curt  and  suspicious  question : 

"Whatman?" 

"My  nephew  Julian — I  should  say  my  grand- 
nephew."  Mrs.  Maldon's  proud  tone  rebuked  the 
strange  tone  of  Mr.  Batchgrew.  "It's  his  birthday. 
He  and  Louis  are  having  supper  with  me.  And  Julian 
is  staying  the  night." 

"Well,  if  ye  take  my  advice,  missis,  ye'll  say  nowt 
to  nobody.  Lock  the  brass  up  in  a  drawer  in  that 
wardrobe  of  yours,  and  keep  a  still  tongue  in  your 
head." 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  Mrs.  Maldon  agreed,  "as 
a  matter  of  general  principle,  I  mean.  And  it  might 
make  Julian  uneasy." 

"Take  it  and  lock  it  up,"  Mr.  Batchgrew  repeated. 

"I  don't  know  about  my  wardrobe — "  Mrs. 
Maldon  began. 

"Anywhere!"     Mr.  Batchgrew  stopped  her. 

"Only,"  said  Rachel  with  careful  gentleness, 
"please  don't  forget  where  you  have  put  it." 

But  her  precaution  of  manner  was  futile.  Twice 
within  a  minute  she  had  employed  the  word  "forget." 
Twice  was  too  often.  Mrs.  Maldon's  memory  was 
most  capriciously  uncertain.  Its  lapses  astonished 
sometimes  even  herself.  And  naturally  she  was 
sensitive  on  the  point.  She  nourished  the  fiction, 
and  she  expected  others  to  nourish  it,  that  her 
memory  was  quite  equal  to  younger  memories. 
Indeed  she  would  admit  every  symptom  of  old  age 
— save  an  unreliable  memory. 

32 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

Composing  a  dignified  smile,  she  said  with  re- 
proving blandness : 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  forgetting  where  I  put 
valuables,  Rachel.' ' 

And  her  prominently  veined  fingers,  clasping  the 
notes  as  a  preliminary  to  hiding  them  away,  seemed 
in  their  nervous  primness  to  be  saying  to  Rachel: 
"I  have  deep  confidence  in  you,  and  I  think  that 
to-night  I  have  shown  it.  But  oblige  me  by  not 
presuming.  I  am  Mrs.  Maldon  and  you  are  Rachel. 
After  all,  I  have  not  yet  known  you  for  a  month." 

IX 

A  very  loud  rasping  noise,  like  a  vicious  menace, 
sounded  from  the  street,  shivering  instantaneously 
the  delicate  placidity  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  home.  Mrs. 
Maldon  gave  a  start. 

"That  '11  be  John's  Ernest  with  the  car,"  said  Mr. 
Batchgrew,  amused;  and  he  began  to  get  up  from  the 
chair.  As  soon  as  he  was  on  his  feet  his  nose  grew 
active  again.  "You've  nothing  to  be  afraid  of, 
missis,"  he  added  in  a  tone  roughly  reassuring  and 
good-natured. 

"Oh  no!  Of  course  not!"  concurred  Mrs.  Maldon, 
further  enforcing  intrepidity  on  herself.  "Of  course 
not !  I  only  just  mentioned  burglars  because  they're 
so  much  in  the  paper."  And  she  stooped  to  pick  up 
the  Signal  and  folded  it  carefully,  as  if  to  prove  that 
her  mind  was  utterly  collected. 

Councilor    Batchgrew,    leaning    over    the    table, 

peered  into  various  vessels  in  search  of  his  gloves. 

At  length  he  took  them  finickingly  from  the  white 

slop-basin  as  though  fishing  them  out  of  a  puddle. 

3  33  m 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

He  began  to  put  them  on,  and  then,  half-way  through 
the  process,  abruptly  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Maldon. 

"Then  you'll  call  in  the  morning ?"  she  asked. 

"Ay!  Ye  may  count  on  me.  Ill  relieve  ye  on 
[of]  it  afore  ten  o'clock.  It  '11  be  on  my  way  to 
Hanbridge,  ye  see." 

Mrs.  Maldon  ceremoniously  accompanied  her  trus- 
tee as  far  as  the  sitting-room  door,  where  she  rec- 
ommended him  to  the  careful  attention  of  Rachel. 
No  woman  in  the  Five  Towns  could  take  leave  of  a 
guest  with  more  impressive  dignity  than  old  Mrs. 
Maldon,  whose  fine  Southern  accent  always  gave  a 
finish  to  her  farewells.  In  the  lobby  Mr.  Batchgrew 
kept  Rachel  waiting  with  his  overcoat  in  her  out- 
stretched hands  while  he  completed  the  business  of 
his  gloves.  As,  close  behind  him,  she  coaxed  his 
stiff  arms  into  the  overcoat,  she  suddenly  felt  that 
after  all  he  was  nothing  but  a  decrepit  survival;  and 
his  offensiveness  seemed  somehow  to  have  been  in- 
creased— perhaps  by  the  singular  episode  of  the 
gloves  and  the  slop-basin.  She  opened  the  front 
door,  and  without  a  word  to  her  he  departed  down 
the  steps. 

Two  lamps  like  lighthouses  glared  fiercely  along 
the  roadway,  dulling  the  municipal  gas  and  giving 
to  each  loose  stone  on  the  macadam  a  long  shadow. 
In  the  gloom  behind  the  lamps  the  low  form  of  an 
open  automobile  showed,  and  a  dim,  cloaked  figure 
beside  it.  A  boyish  voice  said  with  playful  bullying 
sharpness,  above  the  growling  irregular  pulsation  of 
the  engine : 

"Here,  grandad,  you've  got  to  put  this  on." 

"Have  I?"  demanded  uncertainly  the  thick,  heavy 
voice  of  the  old  man. 

34 


\ 


MONEY    IN    THE    HOUSE 

'  'Yes,  you  have — on  the  top  of  your  other  coat. 
If  I  don't  look  after  you  I  shall  get  myself  into  a 
row !  .  .  .  Here,  let  me  put  your  fist  in  the  armhole. 
It's  your  blooming  glove  that  stops  it.  .  .  .  There! 
Now,  up  with  you,  grandad!  .  .  .  All  right!  I've 
got  you.     I  sha'n't  drop  you." 

A  door  snapped  to;  then  another.  The  car  shot 
violently  forward,  with  shrieks  and  a  huge  buzzing 
noise,  and  leapt  up  the  slope  of  the  street.  Rachel, 
still  in  the  porch,  could  see  Mr.  Batchgrew's  head 
wagging  rather  helplessly  from  side  to  side,  just  above 
the  red  speck  of  the  tail-lamp.  Then  the  whol'e 
vision  was  swiftly  blotted  out,  and  the  warning 
shrieks  of  the  invisible  car  grew  fainter  on  the  way 
to  Red  Cow.  It  pleased  Rachel  to  think  of  the  old 
man  being  casually  bullied  and  shaken  by  John's 
Ernest. 

She  leaned  forward  and  gazed  down  the  street,  not 
up  it.  When  she  turned  into  the  house  Mrs.  Maldon 
was  descending  the  stairs,  which,  being  in  a  line  with 
the  lobby,  ended  opposite  the  front  door.  Judging 
by  the  fixity  of  the  old  lady's  features,  Rachel  de- 
cided that  she  was  not  yet  quite  pardoned  for  the 
slight  she  had  put  upon  the  memory  of  her  employer. 
So  she  smiled  pleasantly. 

" Don't  close  the  front  door,  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Maldon,  stifHy.     " There's  some  one  there." 

Rachel  looked  round.  She  had  actually,  in  sheer 
absent-mindedness  or  negligence  or  deafness,  been 
shutting  the  door  in  the  face  of  a  telegraph-boy ! 

"Oh  dear!  I  do  hope — !"  Mrs.  Maldon  mut- 
tered as  she  hastily  tugged  at  the  envelope. 

Having  read  the  message,  she  passed  it  on  to 
Rachel,  and  at  the  same  time  forgivingly  responded 

35 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

to  her  smile.  The  excitement  of  the  telegram  had 
sufficed  to  dissipate  Mrs.  Maldon's  trifling  resentment. 

Rachel  read : 

"Train  hour  late.     Julian." 

The  telegraph-boy  was  dismissed:  "No  answer, 
thank  you." 


During  the  next  half -hour  excitement  within  the 
dwelling  gradually  increased.  It  grew  out  of  nothing 
— out  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  admirable  calm  in  receiving 
the  message  of  the  telegram — until  it  affected  like 
an  atmospheric  disturbance  the  ground  floor — the 
sitting-room  where  Mrs.  Maldon  was  spending 
nervous  force  in  the  effort  to  preserve  an  absolutely 
tranquil  mind,  the  kitchen  where  Rachel  was  "put- 
ting back"  the  supper,  the  lobby  towards  which 
Rachel's  eye  and  Mrs.  Maldon's  ear  were  strained  to 
catch  any  sign  of  an  arrival,  and  the  unlighted, 
unused  room  behind  the  sitting-room  which  seemed 
to  absorb  and  even  intensify  the  changing  moods  of 
the  house. 

The  fact  was  that  Mrs.  Maldon,  in  her  relief  at 
finding  that  Julian  was  not  killed  or  maimed  for  life 
in  a  railway  accident,  had  begun  by  treating  a  delay 
of  one  hour  in  all  her  arrangements  for  the  evening 
as  a  trifle.  But  she  had  soon  felt  that,  though  a 
trifle,  it  was  really  very  upsetting  and  annoying.  It 
gave  birth  to  irrational  yet  real  forebodings  as  to 
the  non-success  of  her  little  party.  It  meant  that 
the  little  party  had  "started  badly."  And  then  her 
other  grandnephew,  Louis  Fores,  did  not  arrive.  He 
had  been  invited  for  supper  at  seven,  and  should 
have  appeared  at  five  minutes  to  seven  at  the  latest. 

36 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 


But  at  five  minutes  to  seven  he  had  not  come;  nor 
at  seven,  nor  at  five  minutes  past — he  who  had  barely 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  walk !  There  was  surely  a  fate 
against  the  party!  And  Rachel  strangely  persisted 
in  not  leaving  the  kitchen !  Even  after  Mrs.  Maldon 
had  heard  her  fumbling  for  an  interminable  time  with 
the  difficult  window  on  the  first-floor  landing,  she 
went  back  to  the  kitchen  instead  of  presenting  her- 
self to  her  expectant  mistress. 

At  last  Rachel  entered  the  sitting-room,  faintly 
humming  an  air.  Mrs.  Maldon  thought  that  she 
looked  self-conscious.  But  Mrs.  Maldon  also  was 
self-conscious,  and  somehow  could  not  bring  her  lips 
to  utter  the  name  of  Louis  Pores  to  Rachel.  For  the 
old  lady  had  divined  a  connection  of  cause  and 
effect  between  Louis  Fores  and  the  apparition  of 
Rachel's  superlative  frock.  And  she  did  not  like  the 
connection;  it  troubled  her,  and  offended  the  extreme 
nicety  of  her  social  code. 

There  was  a  constrained  silence,  which  was  broken 
by  the  lobby  clock  striking  the  first  quarter  after 
seven.  This  harsh  announcement  on  the  part  of  the 
inhuman  clock  seemed  to  render  the  situation  in- 
tolerable. Fifteen  minutes  past  seven,  and  Louis 
not  come,  and  not  a  word  of  comment  thereon! 
Mrs.  Maldon  had  to  admit  privately  that  she  was  in 
a  high  state  of  agitation. 

Then  Rachel,  bending  delicately  to  sweep  the 
hearth  with  the  brass-handled  brush  proper  to  it, 
remarked  with  an  obvious  affectation  of  nonchalance : 

"Your  other  guest's  late  too." 

If  Mrs.  Maldon  had  not  been  able  to  speak  his 
name,  neither  could  Rachel !  Mrs.  Maldon  read  with 
painful  certainty  all  the  girl's  symptoms. 

37 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

''Yes,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Maldon. 

"It's  like  as  if  what  must  be!"  Rachel  murmured, 
employing  a  local  phrase  which  Mrs.  Maldon  had 
ever  contemned  as  meaningless  and  ungrammatical. 

"Fortunately  it  doesn't  matter,  as  Julian  is  late 
too,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  insincerely,  for  it  was 
mattering  very  much.     "But  still — I  wonder — " 

Rachel  broke  out  upon  her  hesitation  in  a  very 
startling  manner: 

"I'll  just  see  if  he's  coming." 

And  she  abruptly  quitted  the  room,  almost  slam- 
ming the  door. 

Mrs.  Maldon  was  dumbfounded.  Scared  and  at- 
tentive, she  listened  in  a  maze  for  the  sound  of  the 
front  door.  She  heard  it  open.  But  was  it  possible 
that  she  heard  also  the  creak  of  the  gate?  She 
sprang  to  the  bow-window  with  surprising  activity, 
and  pulled  aside  a  blind,  one  inch.  .  .  .  There  was 
Rachel  tripping  hatless  and  in  her  best  frock  down 
the  street!  Inconceivable  vision,  affecting  Mrs. 
Maldon  with  palpitation!  A  girl  so  excellent,  so 
lovable,  so  trustworthy,  to  be  guilty  of  the  wanton 
caprice  of  a  minx !  Supposing  Louis  were  to  see  her, 
to  catch  her  in  the  brazen  act  of  looking  for  him! 
Mrs.  Maldon  was  grieved;  and  her  gentle  sorrow  for 
Rachel's  incalculable  lapse  was  so  dignified,  affec- 
tionate, and  jealous  for  the  good  repute  of  human 
nature  that  it  mysteriously  ennobled  instead  of 
degrading  the  young  creature. 

XI 

Going  down  Bycars  Lane  amid  the  soft  wandering 
airs  of  the  September  night,  Rachel  had  the  delicious 

38 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

and  exciting  sensation  of  being  unyoked,  of  being  at 
liberty  for  a  space  to  obey  the  strong  free  common 
sense  of  youth  instead  of  conforming  to  the  outworn 
and  tiresome  code  of  another  age.  Mrs.  Maldon's 
was  certainly  a  house  that  put  a  strain  on  the  nerves. 
It  did  not  occur  to  Rachel  that  she  was  doing  aught 
but  a  very  natural  and  proper  thing.  The  non- 
appearance of  Louis  Fores  was  causing  disquiet,  and 
her  simple  aim  was  to  shorten  the  period  of  anxiety. 
Nor  did  it  occur  to  her  that  she  was  impulsive. 
Something  had  to  be  done,  and  she  had  done  some- 
thing. Not  much  longer  could  she  have  borne  the 
suspense.  All  that  day  she  had  lived  forward  to- 
wards supper-time,  when  Louis  Fores  would  appear. 
Over  and  over  again  she  had  lived  right  through  the 
moment  of  opening  the  front  door  for  him  at  a  little 
before  seven  o'clock.  The  moments  between  seven 
o'clock  and  a  quarter  past  had  been  a  crescendo  of 
torment,  intolerable  at  last.  His  lateness  was  in- 
explicable, and  he  was  so  close  to  that  not  to  look 
for  him  would  have  been  ridiculous. 

She  was  apprehensive,  and  yet  she  was  obscurely 
happy  in  her  fears.  The  large,  inviting,  dangerous 
universe  was  about  her — she  had  escaped  from  the 
confining  shelter  of  the  house.  And  the  night  was 
about  her.  It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  wear 
three  coats,  like  the  gross  Batchgrew,  in  order  to 
protect  herself  from  the  night!  She  could  go  forth 
into  it  with  no  precaution.  She  was  young.  Her 
vigorous  and  confident  body  might  challenge  perils. 

When  she  had  proceeded  a  hundred  yards  she 
stopped  and  turned  to  look  back  at  the  cluster  of 
houses  collectively  called  Bycars. 

The  distinctive  bow -window   of  Mrs.   Maldon's 

39 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

shone  yellow.  Within  the  sacred  room  was  still  the 
old  lady,  sitting  expectant,  and  trying  to  interest 
herself  in  the  paper.     Strange  thought! 

Bycars  Lane  led  in  a  northeasterly  direction  over 
the  broad  hill  whose  ridge  separates  the  lane  from 
the  moorlands  honeycombed  with  coal  and  iron 
mines.  Above  the  ridge  showed  the  fire  and  vapor 
of  the  first  mining- villages,  on  the  way  to  Red  Cow, 
proof  that  not  all  colliers  were  yet  on  strike.  And 
above  that  pyrotechny  hung  the  moon.  The  Mu- 
nicipal Park,  of  which  Bycars  Lane  was  the  north- 
western boundary,  lay  in  mysterious  and  forbidden 
groves  behind  its  spiked  red  wall  and  locked  gates, 
and  beyond  it  a  bright  tram-car  was  leaping  down 
from  lamp  to  lamp  of  Moorthorne  Road  towards  the 
town.  Between  the  masses  of  the  ragged  hedge  on 
the  north  side  of  the  lane  there  was  the  thin  gleam 
of  Bycars  Pool,  lost  in  a  vague  unoccupied  region  of 
shawd-rucks  and  dirty  pasture — the  rendezvous  of 
skaters  when  the  frost  held,  Louis  Fores  had  told  her, 
and  she  had  heard  from  another  source  that  he  skated 
divinely.     She  could  believe  it,  too. 

She  resumed  her  way  more  slowly.  She  had  only 
stopped  because,  though  burned  with  the  desire  to 
see  him,  she  yet  had  an  instinct  to  postpone  the 
encounter.  She  was  almost  minded  to  return.  But 
she  went  on.  The  town  was  really  very  near.  The  il- 
luminated clock  of  the  Town  Hall  had  dominion  over 
it;  the  golden  shimmer  above  the  roofs  to  the  left 
indicated  the  electrical  splendor  of  the  new  Cinema 
in  Moorthorne  Road  next  to  the  new  Primitive 
Methodist  Chapel.  He  had  told  her  about  that,  too. 
In  two  minutes,  in  less  than  two  minutes,  she  was 
among  houses  again,  and  approaching  the  corner  of 

40 


MONEY    IN   THE    HOUSE 

Friendly  Street.  He  would  come  from  the  Moor- 
thorne  Road  end  of  Friendly  Street.  She  would 
peep  round  the  corner  of  Friendly  Street  to  see  if  he 
was  coming.  .  .  . 

But  before  she  reached  the  corner,  her  escapade 
suddenly  presented  itself  to  her  as  childish  madness, 
silly,  inexcusable;  and  she  thought  self -reproachfully : 
"How  impulsive  I  am!"  And  sharply  turned  back 
towards  Mrs.  Maldon's  house,  which  seemed  to  be 
about  ten  miles  off. 

A  moment  later  she  heard  hurried  footfalls  behind 
her  on  the  narrow  brick  pavement,  and,  after  one 
furtive  glance  over  her  shoulder,  she  quickened  her 
pace.  Louis  Fores  in  all  his  elegance  was  pursuing 
her!  Nothing  had  happened  to  him.  He  was  not 
ill;  he  was  merely  a  little  late!  After  all,  she  would 
sit  by  his  side  at  the  supper-table!  She  had  a  spasm 
of  shame  that  was  excruciating.  But  at  the  same 
time  she  was  wildly  glad.  And  already  this  in- 
ebriating illusion  of  an  ingenuous  girl  concerning  a 
common  male  was  helping  to  shape  monstrous  events. 


,  a 
nad 


II 

LOUIS'   DISCOVERY 


LOUIS  FORES  was  late  at  his  grandaunt's 
because  he  had  by  a  certain  preoccupation, 
during  a  period  of  about  an  hour,  been  rendered 
oblivious  of  the  passage  of  time.  The  real  origin  of 
the  affair  went  back  nearly  sixty  years,  to  an  in- 
decorous episode  in  the  history  of  the  Maldon  family. 

At  that  date — before  Mrs.  Maldon  had  even  met 
Austin  Maldon,  her  future  husband — Austin's  elder 
brother  Athelstan,  who  was  well  established  as 
an  earthenware  broker  in  London,  had  a  conjugal 
misfortune,  which  reached  its  climax  in  the  Matri- 
monial Court,  and  left  the  injured  and  stately  Athel- 
stan with  an  incomplete  household,  a  spoiled  home, 
and  the  sole  care  of  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl. 
These  children  were,  almost  of  necessity,  clumsily 
brought  up.  The  girl  married  the  half-brother  of  a 
Lieutenant-General  Fores,  and  Louis  Fores  was  their 
son.  The  boy  married  an  American  girl,  and  had 
issue,  Julian  Maldon  and  some  daughters. 

At   the   age   of  eighteen,    Louis   Fores,   amiable, 

personable,  and  an  orphan,  was  looking  for  a  career. 

Te  had  lived  in  the  London  suburb  of  Barnes,  and 

a-1er  the  influence  of  a  father  whose  career  had 

42 


LOUIS'    DISCOVERY 

chiefly  been  to  be  the  stepbrother  of  Lieutenant- 
General  Fores.  He  was  in  full  possession  of  the  con- 
ventionally snobbish  ideals  of  the  suburb,  reinforced 
by  more  than  a  tincture  of  the  stupendous  and  un- 
surpassed snobbishness  of  the  British  army.  He  had 
no  money,  and  therefore  the  liberal  professions  and 
the  Higher  Division  of  the  Civil  Service  were  closed 
to  him.  He  had  the  choice  of  two  activities;  he 
might  tout  for  wine,  motor-cars,  or  mineral-waters 
on  commission  (like  his  father),  or  he  might  enter  a 
bank.  His  friends  were  agreed  that  nothing  else  was 
conceivable.  He  chose  the  living  grave.  It  is  not 
easy  to  enter  the  living  grave,  but,  august  influences 
aiding,  he  entered  it  with  6clat  at  a  salary  of  seventy 
pounds  a  year,  and  it  closed  over  him.  He  would 
have  been  secure  till  his  second  death  had  he  not 
defiled  the  bier.  The  day  of  judgment  occurred,  the 
grave  opened,  and  he  was  thrown  out  with  ignominy, 
but  ignominy  unpublished.  The  august  influences, 
by  simple  cash,  and  for  their  own  sakes,  had  saved 
him  from  exposure  and  a  jury. 

In  order  to  get  rid  of  him  his  protectors  spoke  well 
of  him,  emphasizing  his  many  good  qualities,  and 
he  was  deported  to  the  Five  Towns  (properly  enough, 
since  his  grandfather  had  come  thence)  and  there 
joined  the  staff  of  Batchgrew  &  Sons,  thanks  to  the 
kind  intervention  of  Mrs.  Maldon.  At  the  end  of 
a  year  John  Batchgrew  told  him  to  go,  and  told  Mrs. 
Maldon  that  her  grandnephew  had  a  fault.  Mrs. 
Maldon  was  very  sorry.  At  this  juncture  Louis 
Fores,  without  intending  to  do  so,  would  certainly 
have  turned  Mrs.  Maldon's  last  years  into  a  tragedy, 
had  he  not  in  the  very  nick  of  time  inherited  about  a 
thousand  pounds.     He  was  rehabilitated.     He  "had 

43 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

money "  now.  He  had  a  fortune;  he  had  ten  thou- 
sand pounds;  he  had  any  sum  you  like,  according  to 
the  caprice  of  rumor.  He  lived  on  his  means  for  a 
little  time,  frequenting  the  Municipal  School  of  Art 
at  the  Wedgwood  Institution  at  Bursley,  and  then 
old  Batchgrew  had  casually  suggested  to  Mrs.  Mal- 
don  that  there  ought  to  be  an  opening  for  him  with 
Jim  Horrocleave,  who  was  understood  to  be  succeed- 
ing with  his  patent  special  processes  for  earthenware 
manufacture.  Mr.  Horrocleave,  a  man  with  a  chin, 
would  not  accept  him  for  a  partner,  having  no  desire 
to  share  profits  with  anybody;  but  on  the  faith  of 
his  artistic  tendency  and  Mrs.  Maldon's  correct  yet 
highly  misleading  catalogue  of  his  virtues,  he  took 
him  at  a  salary,  in  return  for  which  Louis  was  to  be 
the  confidential  employee  who  could  and  would  do 
anything,  including  design. 

And  now  Louis  was  the  stepnephew  of  a  Lieu- 
tenant-General, a  man  of  private  means  and  of 
talent,  and  a  trusted  employee  with  a  fine  wage — 
all  under  one  skin!  He  shone  in  Bursley,  and  no 
wonder!  He  was  very  active  at  Horrocleave's.  He 
not  only  designed  shapes  for  vases,  and  talked  inti- 
mately with  Jim  Horrocleave  about  fresh  projects, 
but  he  controlled  the  petty  cash.  The  expenditure 
of  petty  cash  grew,  as  was  natural  in  a  growing 
business.  Mr.  Horrocleave  soon  got  accustomed  to 
that,  and  apparently  gave  it  no  thought,  signing 
cheques  instantly  upon  request.  But  on  the  very 
day  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  party,  after  signing  a  cheque 
and  before  handing  it  to  Louis,  he  had  somewhat 
lengthily  consulted  his  private  cash-book,  and,  as  he 
handed  over  the  cheque,  had  said:  "Let's  have  a 
squint  at  the  petty-cash  book  to-morrow  morning, 

44 


LOUIS'    DISCOVERY 

Louis.' '  He  said  it  gruffly,  but  he  was  a  gruff  man. 
He  left  early.  He  might  have  meant  anything  or 
nothing.  Louis  could  not  decide  which;  or  rather, 
from  five  o'clock  to  seven  he  had  come  to  alternating 
decisions  every  five  minutes. 


ii 

It  was  just  about  at  the  time  when  Louis  ought  to 
have  been  removing  his  paper  cuff -shields  in  order  to 
start  for  Mrs.  Maldon's,  that  he  discovered  the  full 
extent  of  his  debt  to  the  petty-cash  box.  He  sat 
alone  at  a  rough  and  dirty  desk  in  the  inner  room 
of  the  works  "office,"  surrounded  by  dust-covered 
sample  vases  and  other  vessels  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and 
tints — specimens  of  Horrocleave's  "Art  Luster 
Ware,"  a  melancholy  array  of  ingenious  ugliness  that 
nevertheless  filled  with  pride  its  creators.  He  looked 
through  a  dirt-obscured  window  and  with  unseeing 
gaze  surveyed  a  muddy,  littered  quadrangle  whose 
twilight  was  reddened  by  gleams  from  the  engine- 
house.  In  this  yard  lay  flat  a  sign  that  had  been 
blown  down  from  the  fagade  of  the  manufactory  six 
months  before:  "Horrocleave.  Art  Luster  Ware." 
Within  the  room  was  another  sign,  itself  fashioned 
in  luster- ware:  "Horrocleave.  Art  Luster  Ware."' 
And  the  envelopes  and  paper  and  bill-heads  on  the 
desk  all  bore  the  same  legend:  "Horrocleave.  Art 
Luster  Ware." 

He  owed  seventy-three  pounds  to  the  petty-cash 
box,  and  he  was  startled  and  shocked.  He  was 
startled  because  for  weeks  past  he  had  refrained  from 
adding  up  the  columns  of  the  cash-book — partly  from 
idleness  and  partly  from  a  desire  to  remain  in  igno- 

45 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

ranee  of  his  own  doings.  He  had  hoped  for  the  best. 
He  had  faintly  hoped  that  the  deficit  would  not 
exceed  ten  pounds,  or  twelve;  he  had  been  prepared 
for  a  deficit  of  twenty-five,  or  even  thirty.  But 
seventy-three  really  shocked.  Nay,  it  staggered. 
It  meant  that  in  addition  to  his  salary,  some  thirty 
shillings  a  week  had  been  mysteriously  trickling 
through  the  incurable  hole  in  his  pocket.  Not  to 
mention  other  debts !  -He  well  knew  that  to  Shillitoe 
alone  (his  admirable  tailor)  he  owed  eighteen  pounds. 

It  may  be  asked  how  a  young  bachelor,  with 
private  means  and  a  fine  salary,  living  in  a  district 
where  prices  are  low  and  social  conventions  not 
costly,  could  have  come  to  such  a  pass.  The  answer 
is  that  Louis  had  no  private  means,  and  that  his 
salary  was  not  fine.  The  thousand  pounds  had 
gradually  vanished,  as  a  thousand  pounds  will,  in 
the  refinements  of  material  existence  and  in  the 
pursuit  of  happiness.  His  bank-account  had  long 
been  in  abeyance.  His  salary  was  three  pounds  a 
week.  Many  a  member  of  the  liberal  professions — 
many  a  solicitor,  for  example — brings  up  a  family  on 
three  pounds  a  week  in  the  provinces.  But  for  a 
Lieutenant-General's  nephew,  who  had  once  had  a 
thousand- pounds  in  one  lump,  three  pounds  a  week 
was  inadequate.  As  a  fact,  Louis  conceived  him- 
self "Art  Director"  of  Horrocleave's,  and  sincerely 
thought  that  as  such  he  was  ill-paid.  Herein  was 
one  of  his  private  excuses  for  eccentricity  with  the 
petty  cash.  It  may  also  be  asked  what  Louis  had 
to  show  for  his  superb  expenditure.  The  answer  is, 
nothing. 

With  the  seventy-three  pounds  desolatingly  clear 
in  his  mind,  he  quitted  his  desk  in  order  to  recon- 

46 


LOUIS*    DISCOVERY 

noiter  the  outer  and  larger  portion  of  the  counting- 
house.  He  went  as  far  as  the  archway,  and  saw 
black  smoke  being  blown  downwards  from  heaven 
into  Friendly  Street.  A  policeman  was  placidly  re- 
garding the  smoke  as  he  strolled  by.  And  Louis, 
though  absolutely  sure  that  the  officer  would  not 
carry  out  his  plain  duty  of  summoning  Horrocleave's 
for  committing  a  smoke-nuisance,  did  not  care  for 
the  spectacle  of  the  policeman.  He  returned  to  the 
inner  office,  and  looked  the  door.  The  u  staff "  and 
the  "hands"  had  all  gone,  save  one  or  two  piece- 
workers in  the  painting-shop  across  the  yard. 

The  night  watchman,  fresh  from  bed,  was  moving 
fussily  about  the  yard.  He  nodded  with  respect  to 
Louis  through  the  grimy  window.  Louis  lit  the  gas, 
and  spread  a  newspaper  in  front  of  the  window  by 
way  of  blind.  And  then  he  began  a  series  of  acts 
on  the  petty-cash  book.  The  office  clock  indicated 
twenty  past  six.  He  knew  that  time  was  short,  but 
he  had  a  natural  gift  for  the  invention  and  execution 
of  these  acts,  and  he  calculated  that  under  half  an 
hour  would  suffice  for  them.  But  when  he  next 
looked  at  the  clock,  the  acts  being  accomplished,  one 
hour  had  elapsed;  it  had  seemed  to  him  more  like 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Yet  as  blotting-paper  cannot 
safely  be  employed  in  such  delicate  calligraphic  feats 
as  those  of  Louis,  even  an  hour  was  not  excessive 
for  what  he  had  done.  An  operator  clumsier,  less 
cool,  less  cursory,  more  cautious  than  himself  might 
well  have  spent  half  a  night  over  the  job.  He  locked 
up  the  book,  washed  his  hands  and  face  with  remarka- 
ble celerity  in  a  filthy  lavatory  basin,  brushed  his  hair, 
removed  his  cuff -shields,  changed  his  coat,  and  fled  at 
speed,  leaving  the  key  of  the  office  with  the  watchman. 

47 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 


in 

"I  suppose  the  old  lady  was  getting  anxious,' '  said 
he  brightly  (but  in  a  low  tone  so  that  the  old  lady 
should  not  hear),  as  he  shook  hands  with  Rachel  in 
the  lobby.  He  had  recognized  her  in  front  of  him 
up  the  lane — had  in  fact  nearly  overtaken  her;  and 
she  was  standing  at  the  open  door  when  he  mounted 
the  steps.  She  had  had  just  time  to  prove  to  Mrs. 
Maldon  by  a  "He's  coming' '  thrown  through  the 
sitting-room  doorway,  that  she  had  not  waited  for 
Louis  Fores  and  walked  up  with  him. 

"Yes,"  Rachel  replied  in  the  same  tone,  most 
deceitfully  leaving  him  under  the  false  impression 
that  it  was  the  old  lady's  anxiety  that  had  sent  her 
out.  She  had,  then,  emerged  scathless  in  reputation 
from  the  indiscreet  adventure ! 

The  house  was  animated  by  the  arrival  of  Louis; 
at  once  it  seemed  to  live  more  keenly  when  he  had 
crossed  the  threshold.  And  Louis  found  pleasure  in 
the  house — in  the  welcoming  aspect  of  its  interior,  in 
Rachel's  evident  excited  gladness  at  seeing  him,  in 
her  honest  and  agreeable  features,  and  in  her  sheer 
girlishness.  A  few  minutes  earlier  he  had  been  in 
the  sordid  and  dreadful  office.  Now  he  was  in  an- 
other and  a  cleaner,  prettier  world.  He  yielded 
instantly  and  fully  to  its  invitation,  for  he  had  the 
singular  faculty  of  being  able  to  cast  off  care  like  a 
garment.  He  felt  sympathetic  towards  women,  and 
eager  to  employ  for  their  contentment  all  the  charm 
which  he  knew  he  possessed.  He  gave  himself, 
generously,  in  every  gesture  and  intonation. 

"Office,  auntie,  office!"  he  exclaimed,  elegantly 

48 


LOUIS'    DISCOVERY 


entering  the  parlor.     " Sack-cloth!    Ashes!    Hallo! 
where's  Julian?     Is  he  late  too?" 

When  he  had  received  the  news  about  Julian 
Maldon  he  asked  to  see  the  telegram,  and  searched 
out  its  place  of  origin,  and  drew  forth  a  pocket  time- 
table, and  remarked  in  a  wise  way  that  he  hoped 
Julian  would  ''make  the  connection"  at  Derby. 
Lastly  he  predicted  the  precise  minute  at  which 
Julian  " ought"  to  be  knocking  at  the  front  door. 
And  both  women  felt  their  ignorant,  puzzled  in- 
feriority in  these  recondite  matters  of  travel,  and  the 
comfort  of  having  an  omniscient  male  in  the  house. 

Then  slightly  drawing  up  his  dark  blue  trousers 
with  an  accustomed  movement,  he  carefully  sat  down 
on  the  Chesterfield,  and  stroked  his  soft  black  mus- 
tache (which  was  estimably  long  for  a  fellow  of 
twenty-three)  and  patted  his  black  hair. 

"Rachel,  you  didn't  fasten  that  landing  window, 
after  all!"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  looking  over  Louis' 
head  at  the  lady  companion,  who  hesitated  modestly 
near  the  door.     "I've  tried,  but  I  couldn't." 

"Neither  could  I,  Mrs.  Maldon,"  said  Rachel. 
"I  was  thinking  perhaps  Mr.  Fores  wouldn't  mind — " 

She  did  not  explain  that  her  failure  to  fasten  the 
window  had  been  more  or  less  deliberate,  since,  while 
actually  tugging  at  the  window,  she  had  been  visited 
by  the  sudden  delicious  thought:  "How  nice  it  would 
be  to  ask  Louis  Fores  to  do  this  hard  thing  for  me!" 
I    And  now  she  had  asked  him. 

1 '  Certainly !"  Louis  jumped  to  his  feet.  And  off  he 
went  up-stairs.  Most  probably,  if  the  sudden  delicious 
thought  had  not  skipped  into  Rachel's  brain,  he  would 
never  have  made  that  critical  ascent  to  the  first  floor. 

A  gas-jet  burned  low  on  the  landing. 
4  49 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Let's  have  a  little  light  on  the  subject,"  he  cheer- 
fully muttered  to  himself,  as  he  turned  on  the  gas 
to  the  full. 

Then  in  the  noisy  blaze  of  yellow  and  blue  light 
he  went  to  the  window  and  with  a  single  fierce 
wrench  he  succeeded  in  pulling  the  catch  into 
position.  He  was  proud  of  his  strength.  It  pleased 
him  to  think  of  the  weakness  of  women;  it  pleased 
him  to  anticipate  the  impressed  thanks  of  the  weak 
women  for  this  exertion  of  his  power  on  their  behalf. 
"Have  you  managed  it  so  soon?"  his  aunt  would 
exclaim,  and  he  would  answer  in  a  carefully  offhand 
way:  "Of  course.     Why  not?" 

He  was  about  to  descend,  but  he  remembered  that 
he  must  not  leave  the  gas  at  full.  With  his  hand  on 
the  tap,  he  glanced  perfunctorily  around  the  little 
landing.  The  door  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  bedroom  was 
in  front  of  him,  at  right-angles  to  the  window.  By 
the  door,  which  was  ajar,  stood  a  cane-seated  chair. 
Underneath  the  chair  he  perceived  a  whitish  package 
or  roll  that  seemed  to  be  out  of  place  there  on  the 
floor.  He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  And  as  the 
paper  rustled  peculiarly  in  his  hand,  he  could  feel 
his  heart  give  a  swift  bound.  He  opened  the  roll. 
It  consisted  of  nothing  whatever  but  bank-notes. 
He  listened  intently,  with  ear  cocked  and  rigid  limbs; 
and  he  could  just  catch  the  soothing  murmur  of 
women's  voices  in  the  parlor,  beneath  the  reverber- 
ating solemn  pulse  of  the  lobby  clock. 

IV 

Louis  Fores  had  been  intoxicated  into  a  condition 
of   poesy.     He   was    deliciously    incapable    of   any 

50 


LOUIS'    DISCOVERY 

precise  thinking;  he  could  not  formulate  any  theory 
to  account  for  the  startling  phenomenon  of  a  roll  of 
bank-notes  loose  under  a  chair  on  the  first-floor 
landing  of  his  great-aunt's  house;  he  could  not  even 
estimate  the  value  of  the  roll — he  felt  only  that  it 
was  indefinitely  prodigious.  But  he  had  the  most 
sensitive  appreciation  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  those 
pieces  of  paper.  They  were  not  merely  beautiful 
because  they  stood  for  delight  and  indulgence,  raising 
lovely  visions  of  hosiers'  and  jewelers'  shops  and  the 
night  interiors  of  clubs  and  restaurant — raising  one 
clear  vision  of  himself  clasping  a  watch-bracelet  on 
the  soft  arm  of  Rachel  who  had  so  excitingly  smiled 
upon  him  a  moment  ago.  They  were  beautiful  in 
themselves ;  the  aspect  and  very  texture  of  them  were 
beautiful — surpassing  pictures  and  fine  scenery. 
They  were  the  most  poetic  things  in  the  world. 
They  transfigured  the  narrow  gaslit  first-floor  landing 
of  his  great-aunt's  house  into  a  secret  and  unearthly 
grove  of  bliss.  He  was  drunk  with  quivering 
emotion. 

And  then,  as  he  gazed  at  the  divine  characters 
printed  in  sable  on  the  rustling  whiteness,  he  was 
aware  of  a  stab  of  ugly,  coarse  pain.  Up  to  the 
instant  of  beholding  those  bank-notes  he  had  been 
convinced  that  his  operations  upon  the  petty-cash 
book  would  be  entirely  successful  and  that  the 
immediate  future  at  Horrocleave's  was  assured  of 
tranquillity ;  fie  had  been  blandly  certain  that  Horro- 
cleave  held  no  horrid  suspicion  against  him,  and  that 
even  if  Horrocleave's  pate  did  conceal  a  dark  thought, 
it  would  be  conjured  at  once  away  by  the  super- 
ficial reasonableness  of  the  falsified  accounts.  But 
now  his  mind  was  terribly  and  inexplicably  changed, 

5i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

and  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  to  gull  the  acute  and 
mighty  Horrocleave.  Failure,  exposure,  disgrace, 
ruin,  seemed  inevitable — and  also  intolerable.  It 
was  astonishing  that  he  should  have  deceived  him- 
self into  an  absurd  security.  The  bank-notes,  by 
some  magic  virtue  which  they  possessed,  had  opened 
his  eyes  to  the  truth.  And  they  presented  them- 
selves as  absolutely  indispensable  to  him.  They  had 
sprung  from  naught,  they  belonged  to  nobody,  they 
existed  without  a  creative  cause  in  the  material 
world — and  they  were  indispensable  to  him !  Could 
it  be  conceived  that  he  should  lose  his  high  and 
brilliant  position  in  the  town,  that  two  policemen 
should  hustle  him  into  the  black  van,  that  the  gates 
of  a  prison  should  clang  behind  him?  It  could  not 
be  conceived.  It  was  monstrously  inconceivable. 
.  .  .  The  bank-notes  ...  he  saw  them  wavy,  as 
through  a  layer  of  hot  air. 

A  heavy  knock  on  the  front  door  below  shook  him 
and  the  floor  and  the  walls.  He  heard  the  hurried 
feet  of  Rachel,  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  Julian's 
harsh,  hoarse  voice.  Julian  then  was  not  quite  an 
hour  late,  after  all.  The  stir  in  the  lobby  seemed  to 
be  enormous,  and  very  close  to  him;  Mrs.  Maldon 
had  come  forth  from  the  parlor  to  greet  Julian  on  his 
birthday.  .  .  .  Louis  stuck  the  bank-notes  into  the 
side  pocket  of  his  coat.  And  as  it  were  automatically 
his  mood  underwent  a  change  violent  and  complete. 
"I'll  teach  the  old  lady  to  drop  notes  all  over  the 
place,"  he  said  to  himself.  'Til  just  teach  her!" 
And  he  pictured  his  triumph  as  a  wise  male  when, 
during  the  course  of  the  feast,  his  great-aunt  should 
stumble  on  her  loss  and  yield  to  senile  feminine 
agitation,  and  he  should  remark  superiorly,  with 

52 


LOUIS'    DISCOVERY 

elaborate  calm:  "Here  is  your  precious  money, 
auntie.  A  good  thing  it  was  I  and  not  burglars 
who  discovered  it.  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you! 
.  .  .  Where  was  it?  It  was  on  the  landing  carpet, 
if  you  please!  That's  where  it  was! — "  And  the 
nice  old  creature's  pathetic  relief ! 

As  he  went  jauntily  down-stairs  there  remained 
nothing  of  his  mood  of  intoxication  except  a  still 
thumping  heart. 


Ill 

THE    FEAST 


THE  dramatic  moment  of  the  birthday  feast  came 
nearly  at  the  end  of  the  meal  when  Mrs.  Mal- 
don,  having  in  mysterious  silence  disappeared  for  a 
space  to  the  room  behind,  returned  with  due  pomp 
bearing  a  parcel  in  her  dignified  hands.  During  her 
brief  absence  Louis,  Rachel,  and  Julian — hero  of  the 
night — had  sat  mute  and  somewhat  constrained 
round  the  debris  of  the  birthday  pudding.  The 
constraint  was  no  doubt  due  partly  to  Julian's  char- 
acteristic and  notorious  grim  temper,  and  partly  to 
mere  anticipation  of  a  solemn  event. 

Julian  Maldon  in  particular  was  self-conscious. 
He  hated  intensely  to  be  self-conscious,  and  his 
feeling  towards  ev^ry  witness  of  his  self-consciousness 
partook  always  of  the  homicidal.  Were  it  not  that 
civilization  has  the  means  to  protect  itself,  Julian 
might  have  murdered  defenseless  aged  ladies  and 
innocent  young  girls  for  the  simple  offense  of  having 
seen  him  blush. 

He  was  a  perfect  specimen  of  a  throw-back  to 
original  ancestry.  He  had  been  born  in  London,  of 
an  American  mother,  and  had  spent  the  greater  part 
of  his  life  in  London.     Yet  London  and  his  mother 

54 


THE    FEAST 

seemed  to  count  "for  absolutely  nothing  at  all  in  his 
composition.  At  the  age  of  seventeen  his  soul, 
quitting  the  exile  of  London,  had  come  to  the  Five 
Towns  with  a  sigh  of  relief  as  if  at  the  assuagement 
of  a  Jong  nostalgia,  and  had  dropped  into  the  district 
as  into  a  socket.  In  three  months  he  was  more 
indigenous  than  a  native.  Any  experienced  observer 
who  now  chanced  at  a  week-end  to  see  him  board 
the  Manchester  express  at  Euston  would  have  been 
able  to  predict  from  his  appearance  that  he  would 
leave  the  train  at  Knype.  He  was  an  undersized 
man,  with  a  combative  and  suspicious  face.  He 
regarded  the  world  with  crafty  pugnacity  from 
beneath  frowning  eyebrows.  His  expression  said: 
"Woe  betide  the  being  who  tries  to  get  the  better 
of  me!"  His  expression  said:  "Keep  off!"  His 
expression  said:  "I  am  that  I  am.  Take  me  or  leave 
me,  but  preferably  leave  me.  I  loathe  fuss,  pre- 
tense, flourishes — any  and  every  form  of  damned 
nonsense." 

He  had  an  excellent  heart,  but  his  attitude  towards 
it  was  the  attitude  of  his  great-grandmother  towards 
her  front  parlor — he  used  it  as  little  as  possible,  and 
kept  it  locked  up  like  a  shame.  In  brief,  he  was 
more  than  a  bit  of  a  boor.  And  boorishness  being 
his  chief  fault,  he  was  quite  naturally  proud  of  it, 
counted  it  for  the  finest  of  all  qualities,  and  scorned 
every  manifestation  of  its  opposite.  To  prove  his 
inward  sincerity  he  deemed  it  right  to  flout  any  form 
of  external  grace — such  as  politeness,  neatness,  ele- 
gance, compliments,  small-talk,  smooth  words,  and 
all  ceremonial  whatever.  He  would  have  died  in 
torment  sooner  than  kiss.  He  was  averse  even  from 
shaking  hands,  and  when  he  did  shake  hands  he 

55 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

produced  a  carpenter's  vise,  crushed  flesh  and  bone 
together,  and  flung  the  intruding  pulp  away.  His 
hat  was  so  heavy  on  his  head  that  only  by  an  ex- 
hausting and  supreme  effort  could  he  raise  it  to  a 
woman,  and  after  the  odious  accident  he  would  feel 
as  humiliated  as  a  fox-terrier  after  a  bath.  By  the 
kind  hazard  of  fate  he  had  never  once  encountered 
his  great-aunt  in  the  street.  He  was  superb  in 
enmity — a  true  hero.  He  would  quarrel  with  a 
fellow  and  say,  curtly:  "I'll  never  speak  to  you 
again";  and  he  never  would  ^peak  to  that  fellow 
again.  Were  the  last  trump  to  blow  and  all  the 
British  isle  to  be  submerged  save  the  summit  of 
Snowdon,  and  he  and  that  fellow  to  find  themselves 
alone  and  safe  together  on  the  peak,  he  could  still 
be  relied  upon  never  to  speak  to  that  fellow  again. 
Thus  would  he  prove  that  he  was  a  man  of  his  word 
and  that  there  was  no  nonsense  about  him. 

Strange  though  it  may  appear  to  the  thoughtless, 
he  was  not  disliked — much  less  ostracized.  Codes 
differ.  He  conformed  to  one  which  suited  the  in- 
stincts of  some  thirty  thousand  other  adult  males  in 
the  Five  Towns.  Two  strapping  girls  in  the  ware- 
house of  his  manufactory  at  Knype  quarreled  over 
him  in  secret  as  the  Prince  Charming  of  those  parts. 
Yet  he  had  never  addressed  them  except  to  inform 
them  that  if  they  didn't  mind  their  p's  and  q's  he 
would  have  them  flung  off  the  "bank"  [manufac- 
tory]. Rachel  herself  had  not  yet  begun  to  be  preju- 
diced against  him. 

This  monster  of  irascible  cruelty  regarded  himself 
as  a  middle-aged  person.  But  he  was  only  twenty- 
five  that  day,  and  he  did  not  look  more,  either, 
despite  a  stiff,  strong  mustache.     He  too,  like  Louis 

56 


THE    FEAST 

and  Rachel,  had  the  gestures  of  youth — the  uncon- 
sidered lithe  movements  of  limb,  the  wistful  un teach- 
able pride  of  his  age,  the  touching  self-confidence. 
Old  Mrs.  Maldon  was  indeed  old  among  them. 

ii 

She  sat  down  in  all  her  benevolent  stateliness  and 
with  a  slightly  irritating  deliberation  undid  the  parcel, 
displaying  a  flattish  leather  case  about  seven  inches 
by  four,  which  she  handed  formally  to  Julian  Maldon, 
saying  as  she  did  so: 

"From  your  old  auntie,  my  dear  boy,  with  her 
loving  wishes.  You  have  now  lived  just  a  quarter 
of  a  century/ ' 

And  as  Julian,  awkwardly  grinning,  fumbled  with 
the  spring-catch  of  the  case,  she  was  aware  of  having 
accomplished  a  great  and  noble  act  of  surrender. 
She  hoped  the  best  from  it.  In  particular,  she  hoped 
that  she  had  saved  the  honor  of  her  party  and  put 
it  at  last  on  a  secure  footing  of  urbane  convivial 
success.  For  that  a  party  of  hers  should  fail  in 
giving  pleasure  to  every  member  of  it  was  a  menace 
to  her  legitimate  pride.  And  so  far  fate  had  not 
been  propitious.  The  money  in  the  house  had  been, 
and  was,  on  her  mind.  Then  the  lateness  of  the 
guests  had  disturbed  her.  And  then  Julian  had 
aggrieved  her  by  a  piece  of  obstinacy  very  like 
himself.  Arriving  straight  from  a  train  journey,  he 
had  wanted  to  wash.  But  he  would  not  go  to  the 
specially  prepared  bedroom  where  a  perfect  appa- 
ratus awaited  him.  No,  he  must  needs  take  off  his 
jacket  in  the  back  room  and  roll  up  his  sleeves  and 
stamp  into  the  scullery  and  there  splash  and  rub  like 

57 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

a  stableman,  and  wipe  himself  on  the  common  rough 
roller-towel.  He  said  he  preferred  the  "sink." 
(Offensive  word!  He  would  not  even  say  "slop- 
stone,"  which  was  the  proper  word.  He  said  "sink," 
and  again  "sink.") 

And  then,  when  the  meal  finally  did  begin,  Mrs. 
Maldon's  serviette  and  silver  serviette-ring  had 
vanished.  Impossible  to  find  them!  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  had  of  course  horribly  disarranged  the  table, 
and  in  the  upset  the  serviette  and  ring  might  have 
fallen  unnoticed  into  the  darkness  beneath  the  table. 
But  no  search  could  discover  them.  Had  the 
serviette  and  ring  ever  been  on  the  table  at  all  ?  Had 
Rachel  perchance  forgotten  them?  Rachel  was  cer- 
tain that  she  had  put  them  on  the  table.  She  re- 
membered casting  away  a  soiled  serviette  and  re- 
placing it  with  a  clean  one  in  accordance  with  Mrs. 
Maldon's  command  for  the  high  occasion.  She 
produced  the  soiled  serviette  in  proof.  Moreover, 
the  ring  was  not  in  the  serviette  drawer  of  the  side- 
board. Renewed  search  was  equally  sterile.  .  .  . 
At  one  moment  Mrs.  Maldon  thought  that  she  her- 
self had  seen  the  serviette  and  ring  on  the  table  early 
in  the  evening;  but  at  the  next  she  thought  she  had 
not.  Conceivably  Mr.  Batchgrew  had  taken  them 
in  mistake.  Yes,  assuredly,  he  had  taken  them  in 
mistake — somehow!  And  yet  it  was  inconceivable 
that  he  had  taken  a  serviette  and  ring  in  mistake. 
In  mistake  for  what?     No!  .  .  . 

Mystery!  Excessively  disconcerting  for  an  old 
lady!  In  the  end  Rachel  provided  another  clean 
serviette,  and  the  meal  commenced.  But  Mrs.  Mal- 
don had  not  been  able  to  "settle  down"  in  ah 
instant.     The  wise,  pitying  creatures  in  their  twent  ies 

58 


THE    FEAST 

considered  that  it  was  absurd  for  her  to  worry  herself 
about  such  a  trifle.  But  was  it  a  trifle?  It  was 
rather  a  denial  of  natural  laws,  a  sinister  miracle. 
Serviette-rings  cannot  walk,  nor  fly,  nor  be  anni- 
hilated. And  further,  she  had  used  that  serviette- 
ring  for  more  than  twenty  years.  However,  the 
hostess  in  her  soon  had  triumphed  over  the  foolish 
old  lady,  and  taken  the  head  of  the  board  with 
aplomb. 

And  indeed  aplomb  had  been  required.  For  the 
guests  behaved  strangely — unless  it  was  that  the 
hostess  was  in  a  nervous  mood  for  fancying  trouble ! 
Julian  Maldon  was  fidgety  and  preoccupied.  And 
Louis  himself — usually  a  model  guest — was  also 
fidgety  and  preoccupied.  As  for  Rachel,  the  poor 
girl  had  only  too  obviously  lost  her  head  about  Louis. 
Mrs.  Maldon  had  never  seen  anything  like  it,  never ! 

in 

Julian,  having  opened  the  case,  disclosed  twin 
briar  pipes  silver-mounted,  with  alternative  stems  of 
various  lengths  and  diverse  mouth-pieces — all  repos- 
ing on  soft  couches  of  fawn-tinted  stuff,  with  a 
crimson  silk-lined  lid  to  serve  them  for  canopy.  A 
rich  and  costly  array!  Everybody  was  impressed, 
even  startled.  For  not  merely  was  the  gift  extremely 
handsome — it  was  more  than  a  gift ;  it  symbolized  the 
end  of  an  epoch  in  those  lives.  Mrs.  Maldon  had 
been  no  friend  of  tobacco.  She  had  lukewarmly  per- 
mitted cigarettes,  which  Louis  smoked,  smoking 
naught  else.  But  cigars  she  had  discouraged,  and 
pipes  she  simply  would  not  have!  Now,  Julian 
smoked  nothing  but  a  pipe.     Hence  in  his  great- 

59 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

aunt's  parlor  he  had  not  smoked;  in  effect  he  had 
been  forbidden  to  smoke  there.  The  theory  that  a 
pipe  was  vulgar  had  been  stiffly  maintained  in  that 
sacred  parlor.  In  the  light  of  these  facts  does  not 
Mrs.  Maldon's  gift  indeed  shine  as  a  great  and  noble 
act  of  surrender?  Was  it  not  more  than  a  gift,  and 
entitled  to  stagger  beholders?  Was  it  not  a  sublime 
proof  that  the  earth  revolves  and  the  world  moves? 
Mrs.  Maldon  was  as  susceptible  as  anyone  to  the 
drama  of  the  moment,  perhaps  more  than  anyone. 
She  thrilled  and  became  happy  as  Julian  in  silence 
minutely  examined  the  pipes.  She  had  taken  expert 
advice  before  purchasing,  and  she  was  tranquil  as 
to  the  ability  of  the  pipes  to  withstand  criticism. 
They  bore  the  magic  triple  initials  of  the  first  firm 
of  briar-pipe  makers  in  the  world — initials  as  famous 
and  as  welcome  on  the  plains  of  Hindustan  as  in  the 
Home  Counties  or  the  frozen  zone.  She  gazed  round 
the  table  with  increasing  satisfaction.  Louis,  who 
was  awkwardly  fixed  with  regard  to  the  light,  the 
shadow  of  his  bust  falling  always  across  his  plate, 
had  borne  that  real  annoyance  with  the  most  charm- 
ing good  humor.  He  was  a  delight  to  the  eye;  he 
had  excellent  qualities,  especially  social  qualities. 
Rachel  sat  opposite  to  the  hostess.  An  admirable 
girl  in  most  ways;  a  splendid  companion,  and  a  sound 
cook.  The  meal  had  been  irreproachable,  and  in  the 
phrase  of  the  Signal  "ample  justice  had  been  done" 
to  it.  Julian  was  on  the  hostess's  left,  with  his  back 
to  the  window  and  to  the  draught.  A  good  boy,  a 
sterling  boy,  if  peculiar!  And  there  they  were  all 
close  together,  intimate,  familiar,  mutually  respect- 
ing; and  the  perfect  parlor  was  round  about  them: 
a  domestic  organism,  honest,  dignified,  worthy,  more 

60 


THE    FE*AST 

than  comfortable.  And  she,  Elizabeth  Maldon,  in 
her  old  age,  was  the  head  of  it,  and  the  fount  of  good 
things. 

" Thank  ye!"  ejaculated  Julian,  with  a  queer  look 
askance  at  his  benefactor.     "Thank  ye,  aunt!" 

It  was  all  he  could  get  out  of  his  throat,  and  it  was 
all  that  was  expected  of  him.  He  hated  to  give 
thanks — and  he  hated  to  be  thanked.  The  grandeur 
of  the  present  flattered  him.  Nevertheless,  he  re- 
garded it  as  essentially  absurd  in  its  pretentiousness. 
The  pipes  were  Ai,  but  could  a  man  carry  about  a 
huge  contraption  like  that?  All  a  man  needed  was 
an  Ai  pipe,  which,  if  he  had  any  sense,  he  would 
carry  loose  in  his  pocket  with  his  pouch — and  be 
hanged  to  morocco  cases  and  silk  linings! 

"Stoke  up,  my  hearties!"  said  Louis,  drawing  forth 
a  gun-metal  cigarette-case,  which  was  chained  to  his 
person  by  a  kind  of  cable. 

Undoubtedly  the  case  of  pipes  represented  for 
Julian  a  triumph  over  Louis,  or,  at  least,  justice 
against  Louis.  For  obvious  reasons  Julian  had  not 
quarreled  with  a  rich  and  affectionate  great-aunt 
because  she  had  accorded  to  Louis  the  privilege  of 
smoking  in  her  parlor  what  he  preferred  to  smoke, 
while  refusing  a  similar  privilege  to  himself.  But  he 
had  resented  the  distinction.  And  his  joy  in  the 
spectacular  turn  of  the  wheel  was  vast.  For  that 
very  reason  he  hid  it  with  much  care.  Why  should 
he  bubble  over  with  gratitude  for  having  been  at  last 
treated  fairly?  It  would  be  pitiful  to  do  so.  Leav- 
ing the  case  open  upon  the  table,  he  pulled  a  pouch 
and  an  old  pipe  from  his  pocket,  and  began  to  fill 
the  pipe.  It  was  inexcusable,  but  it  was  like  him — 
he  had  to  do  it. 

61 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"But  aren't  you  going  to  try  one  of  the  new  ones?" 
asked  Mrs.  Maldon,  amiably  but  uncertainly. 

"No,"  said  he,  with  cold  nonchalance.  Upon 
nobody  in  the  world  had  the  sweet  magic  of  Mrs. 
Maldon's  demeanor  less  influence  than  upon  himself. 
"Not  now.  I  want  to  enjoy  my  smoke,  and  the  first 
smoke  out  of  a  new  pipe  is  never  any  good." 

It  was  very  true,  but  far  more  wanton  than  true. 
Mrs.  Maldon  in  her  ignorance  could  not  appreciate 
the  truth,  but  she  could  appreciate  its  wantonness. 
She  was  wounded — silly,  touchy  old  thing !  She  was 
wounded,  and  she  hid  the  wound. 

Rachel  flushed  with  ire  against  the  boor. 

"By  the  way,"  Mrs.  Maldon  remarked  in  a  light, 
indifferent  tone,  just  as  though  the  glory  of  the 
moment  had  not  been  suddenly  rent  and  shriveled, 
"I  didn't  see  your  portmanteau  in  the  back  room 
just  now,  Julian.  Has  anyone  carried  it  up-stairs? 
I  didn't  hear  anyone 'go  up-stairs." 

"I  didn't  bring  one,  aunt,"  said  Julian. 

"Not  bring—" 

"I  was  forgetting  to  tell  ye.  I  can't  sleep  here 
to-night.  I'm  off  to  South  Africa  to-morrow,  and 
I've  got  a  lot  of  things  to  fix  up  at  my  digs  to-night." 
He  lit  the  old  pipe  from  a  match  which  Louis  passed 
to  him. 

"To  South  Africa?"  murmured  Mrs.  Maldon, 
aghast.  And  she  repeated,  "South  Africa?"  To 
her  it  was  an  incredible  distance.  It  was  not  a 
place — it  was  something  on  the  map.  Perhaps  she 
had  never  imaginatively  realized  that  actual  people 
did  in  fact  go  to  South  Africa.  "But  this  is  the 
first  I  have  heard  of  this!"  she  said.  Julian's  extra- 
ordinary secretiveness  always  disturbed  her. 

62 


THE    FEAST 

"I  only  got  the  telegram  about  my  berth  this 
morning,"  said  Julian,  rather  sullenly  on  the  de- 
fensive. 

"Is  it  business ?"  Mrs.  Maldon  asked. 

"You  may  depend  it  isn't  pleasure,  aunt,"  he 
answered,  and  shut  his  lips  tight  on  the  pipe. 

After  a  pause  Mrs.  Maldon  tried  again. 

"Where  do  you  sail  from?" 

Julian  answered : 

"Southampton." 

There  was  another  pause.  Louis  and  Rachel  ex- 
changed a  glance  of  sympathetic  dismay  at  the 
situation. 

Mrs.  Maldon  then  smiled  with  plaintive  courage. 

"Of  course  if  you  can't  sleep  here,  you  can't,"  said 
she  benignly.  "I  can  see  that.  But  we  are  quite 
counting  on  having  a  man  in  the  house  to-night — 
with  all  these  burglars  about — weren't  we,  Rachel?" 
Her  grimace  became,  by  an  effort,  semi-humorous. 

Rachel  diplomatically  echoed  the  tone  of  Mrs. 
Maldon,  but  more  brightly,  with  a  more  frankly 
humorous  smile: 

"We  were,  indeed!" 

But  her  smile  was  a  masterpiece  of  duplicity, 
somewhat  strange  in  a  girl  so  downright;  for  beneath 
it  burned  hotly  her  anger  against  the  brute  Julian. 

"Well,  there  it  is!"  Julian  gruffly  and  callously 
summed  up  the  situation,"  staring  at  the  inside  of 
his  teacup. 

"Propitious  moment  for  getting  a  monopoly  of 
door-knobs  at  the  Cape,  I  suppose?"  said  Louis, 
quizzically.  His  cousin  manufactured,  among  other 
articles,  white  and  jet  door-knobs. 

"No  need  for  you  to  be  so  desperately  funny!" 

63 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

snapped  Julian,  who  detested  Louis'  brand  of  face- 
tiousness.  It  was  the  word  " propitious' '  that  some- 
how annoyed  him — it  had  a  sarcastic  flavor,  and  it 
was  "Louis  all  over." 

"No  offense,  old  man!"  Louis  magnanimously- 
soothed  him.  "On  the  contrary,  many  happy  re- 
turns of  the  day."  In  social  intercourse  the  younger 
cousin's  good  humor  and  suavity  were  practically 
indestructible. 

But  Julian  still  scowled. 

Rachel,  to  make  a  tactful  diversion,  rose  and 
began  to  collect  plates.  The  meal  was  at  an  end, 
and  for  Mrs.  Maldon  it  had  closed  in  ignominy. 
From  her  quarter  of  the  table  she  pushed  crockery 
towards  Rachel  with  a  gesture  of  disillusion;  the 
courage  to  smile  had  been  but  momentary.  She 
felt  old — older  than  she  had  ever  felt  before.  The 
young  generation  presented  themselves  to  her  as 
almost  completely  enigmatic.  She  admitted  that 
they  were  foreign  to  her;  that  she  could  not  compre- 
hend them  at  all.  Each  of  the  three  at  her  table 
was  entirely  free  and  independent — each  could  and 
did  act  according  to  his  or  her  whim,  and  none  could 
say  them  nay.  Such  freedom  seemed  unreal.  They 
were  children  playing  at  life,  and  playing  danger- 
ously. Hundreds  of  times,  in  conversation  with  her 
coevals,  she  had  cheerfully  protested  against  the 
banal  complaint  that  the  world  had  changed  of  late 
years.  But  now  she  felt  grievously  that  the  world 
was  different — that  it  had  indeed  deteriorated  since 
her  young  days.  She  was  fatigued  by  the  modes  of 
thought  of  these  youngsters,  as  a  nurse  or  mother  is 
fatigued  by  too  long  a  spell  of  the  shrillness  and  the 
naivet6  of  a  family  of  infants.     She  wanted  repose. 

64 


THE    FEAST 

.  .  .  Was  it  conceivable  that  when,  with  incontest- 
able large-mindedness,  she  had  given  a  case  of  pipes 
to  Julian,  he  should  first  put  a  slight  on  her  gift  and 
then,  brusquely  leaving  her  in  the  lurch,  announce 
his  departure  for  South  Africa,  with  as  much  calm 
as  though  South  Africa  were  in  the  next  street  ?  .  .  . 
And  the  other  two  were  guilty  in  other  ways,  perhaps 
more  subtly,  of  treason  against  forlorn  old  age. 

And  then  Louis,  in  taking  the  slop-basin  from  her 
trembling  fingers,  to  pass  it  to  Rachel,  gave  her  one 
of  his  adorable,  candid,  persuasive,  sympathetic 
smiles.  And  lo!  she  was  enheartened  once  more. 
And  she' remembered  that  dignity  and  kindliness 
had  been  the  watchwords  of  her  whole  life,  and  that 
it  would  be  shameful  to  relinquish  the  struggle  for 
an  ideal  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  grave.  She 
began  to  find  excuses  for  Julian.  The  dear  lad  must 
have  many  business  worries.  He  was  very  young 
to  be  at  the  head  of  a  manufacturing  concern.  He 
had  a  remarkable  brain — worthy  of  the  family. 
Allowances  must  be  made  for  him.  She  must  not 
be  selfish.  .  .  .  And  assuredly  that  serviette  and  ring 
would  reappear  on  the  morrow. 

"Ill  take  that  out,"  said  Louis,  indicating  the  tray 
which  Rachel  had  drawn  from  concealment  under  the 
Chesterfield,  and  which  was  now  loaded.  Mrs. 
Maldon  employed  an  old  and  valued  charwoman  in 
the  mornings.  Rachel  accomplished  all  the  rest  of 
the  housework  herself,  including  cookery,  and  she 
accomplished  it  with  the  stylistic  smartness  of  a 
self-respecting  lady-help. 

"Oh  no!"  said  she.  "I  can  carry  it  quite  easily, 
thanks." 

Louis  insisted  masculinely : 
5  65 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Til  take  that  tray  out." 

And  he  took  it  out,  holding  his  head  back  as  he 
marched,  so  that  the  smoke  of  the  cigarette  between 
his  lips  should  not  obscure  his  eyes.  Rachel  followed 
with  some  oddments.  Behold  those  two  away  to- 
gether in  the  seclusion  of  the  kitchen;  and  Mrs. 
Maldon  and  Julian  alone  in  the  parlor! 

"Very  fine!"  muttered  Julian,  fingering  the  mag- 
nificent case  of  pipes.  Now  that  there  were  fewer 
spectators,  his  tongue  was  looser,  and  he  could 
relent. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  like  it,"  Mrs.  Maldon  responded, 
eagerly. 

The  world  was  brighter  to  her,  and  she  accepted 
Julian's  amiability  as  heaven's  reward  for  her  re- 
newal of  courage. 

IV 

"Auntie,"  began  Louis,  with  a  certain  formality. 

"Yes?" 

Mrs.  Maldon  had  turned  her  chair  a  little  towards 
the  fire.  The  two  visitants  to  the  kitchen  had 
reappeared.  Rachel  with  a  sickle-shaped  tool  was 
sedulously  brushing  the  crumbs  from  the  damask 
into  a  silver  tray.  Louis  had  taken  the  poker  to 
mend  the  fire. 

He  said,  nonchalantly : 

"If  you'd  care  for  me  to  stay  the  night  here 
instead  of  Julian,  I  will." 

"Well — "  Mrs.  Maldon  was  unprepared  for  this 
apparently  quite  natural  and  kindly  suggestion.  It 
perturbed,  even  frightened  her  by  its  implications. 
Had  it  been  planned  in  the  kitchen  between  those 
two?    She  wanted  to  accept  it;  and  yet  another  in- 

66 


Holding  his  head  back  as  he  marched. 


THE    FEAST 

stinct  in  her  prompted  her  to  decline  it  absolutely 
and  at  once.  She  saw  Rachel  flushing  as  the  girl 
industriously  continued  her  task  without  looking  up. 
To  Mrs.  Maldon  it  seemed  that  those  two,  under  the 
impulsion  of  fate,  were  rushing  towards  each  other 
at  a  speed  far  greater  than  she  had  suspected. 

Julian  stirred  on  his  chair,  under  the  sharp  irrita- 
tion caused  by  Louis'  proposal.  He  despised  Louis 
as  a  boy  of  no  ambition — a  butterfly  being  who  had 
got  no  further  than  the  adolescent  will-to-live,  the 
desire  for  self-indulgence,  whereas  he,  Julian,  was 
profoundly  conscious  of  the  will-to-dominate,  the 
hunger  for  influence  and  power.  And  also  he  was 
jealous  of  Louis  on  various  counts.  Louis  had 
come  to  the  Five  Towns  years  after  Julian,  and  had 
almost  immediately  cut  a  figure  therein;  Julian  had 
never  cut  a  figure.  Julian  had  been  the  sole  resident 
great-nephew  of  a  benevolent  aunt,  and  Louis  had 
arrived  and  usurped  at  least  half  the  advantages  of 
the  relationship,  if  not  more;  Louis  lived  several 
miles  nearer  to  his  aunt.  Julian  it  was  who,  through 
his  acquaintance  with  Rachel's  father  and  her  mas- 
terful sinister  brother,  had  brought  her  into  touch 
with  Mrs.  Maldon.  Rachel  was  Julian's  creation, 
so  far  as  his  aunt  was  concerned.  Julian  had  no 
dislike  for  Rachel;  he  had  even  been  thinking  of  her 
favorably.  But  Louis  had,  as  it  were,  appropriated 
her!  .  .  .  From  the  steely  conning- tower  of  his 
brows  Julian  had  caught  their  private  glances  at  the 
table.  And  Louis  was  now  carrying  trays  for  her, 
and  hobnobbing  with  her  in  the  kitchen!  Lastly, 
because  Julian  could  not  pass  the  night  in  the  house, 
Louis,  the  interloper,  had  the  effrontery  to  offer  to 
fill  his  place — on  some  preposterous  excuse  about 

67 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

burglars!  And  the  fellow  was  so  polite  and  so 
persuasive,  with  his  finicking  elegance.  By  virtue 
of  a  strange  faculty  not  uncommon  in  human  nature 
Julian  loathed  Louis'  good  manners  and  appearance 
— and  acutely  envied  them. 

He  burst  out  with  scarcely  controlled  savagery: 

"A  lot  of  good  you'd  be,  with  burglars !" 

The  women  were  outraged  by  his  really  shocking 
rudeness.  Rachel  bit  her  lip  and  began  to  fold  up 
the  cloth.  Mrs.  Maldon's  head  slightly  trembled. 
Louis  alone  maintained  a  perfect  equanimity.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  invulnerable. 

"You  never  know — !"  he  smiled  amiably,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Then  he  finished  his  opera- 
tion on  the  fire. 

"I'm  sure  it's  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you, 
Louis,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  driven  to  acceptance  by 
Julian's  monstrous  behavior. 

"Moreover,"  Louis  urbanely  continued,  smoothing 
down  his  trousers  with  a  long  perpendicular  caress 
as  he  usually  did  after  any  bending,  "Moreover, 
there's  always  my  revolver." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"Revolver!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maldon,  intimidated 
by  the  mere  name.  Then  she  smiled,  in  an  effort  to 
reassure  herself.  "Louis,  you  are  a  tease.  You 
really  shouldn't  tease  me." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Louis,  with  that  careful  air  of 
false  blank  casualness  which  he  would  invariably 
employ  for  his  more  breath-taking  announcements. 
"I  always  carry  a  loaded  revolver." 

The  fearful  word  "loaded"  sank  into  the  heart  of 
the  old  woman,  and  thrilled  her.  It  was  a  fact  that 
for  some  weeks  past  Louis  had  been  carrying  a 

68 


THE    FEAST 


revolver.  At  intervals  the  craze  for  firearms  seizes 
the  fashionable  youth  of  a  provincial  town,  like  the 
craze  for  marbles  at  school,  and  then  dies  away.  In 
the  present  instance  it  had  been  originated  by  the 
misadventure  of  a  dandy  with  an  out-of-work  artisan 
on  the  fringe  of  Hanbridge.  Nothing  could  be  more 
correct  than  for  a  man  of  spirit  and  fashion  thus  to 
arm  himself  in  order  to  cow  the  lower  orders  and  so 
cope  with  the  threatened  social  revolution. 

"You  don't,  Louis !"  Mrs.  Maldon  deprecated. 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Louis,  feeling  in  his  hip 
pocket. 

"Please!"  protested  Mrs.  Maldon,  and  Rachel 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  drew  back  from 
Louis'  sinister  gesture.  "Please  don't  show  it  to 
us!"  Mrs.  Maldon's  tone  was  one  of  imploring 
entreaty.  For  an  instant  she  was  just  like  a  senti- 
mentalist who  resents  and  is  afraid  of  hearing  the 
truth.  She  obscurely  thought  that  if  she  resolutely 
refused  to  see  the  revolver  it  would  somehow  cease 
to  exist.  With  a  loaded  revolver  in  the  house  the 
situation  seemed  more  dangerous  and  more  compli- 
cated than  ever.  There  was  something  absolutely 
terrifying  in  the  conjuncture  of  a  loaded  revolver 
and  a  secret  hoard  of  bank-notes. 

"All  right!    All  right!"     Louis  relented. 

Julian  cut  across  the  scene  with  a  gruff  and  final : 

"I  must  clear  out  of  this!" 

He  rose. 

"Must  you?"  said  his  aunt. 

She  did  not  unduly  urge  him  to  delay,  for  the 
strain  of  family  life  was  exhausting  her. 

"I  must  catch  the  9.48,"  said  Julian,  looking  at 
the  clock  and  at  his  watch. 

69 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Herein  was  yet  another  example  of  the  morbid 
reticence  which  so  pained  Mrs.  Maldon.  He  must 
have  long  before  determined  to  catch  the  9.48;  yet 
he  had  said  nothing  about  it  till  the  last  moment! 
He  had  said  nothing  even  about  South  Africa  until 
the  news  was  forced  from  him.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  he  should  come  direct  to  Bursley  station  from 
his  commercial  journey  in  Yorkshire  and  Derbyshire, 
pass  the  night  at  his  aunt's  house,  which  was  con- 
veniently near  the  station,  and  proceed  refreshed  to 
business  on  the  morrow.  A  neat  arrangement,  well 
suiting  the  fact  of  his  birthday!  And  now  he  had 
broken  it  in  silence,  without  a  warning,  with  the 
baldest  possible  explanation!  His  aunt,  despite  her 
real  interest  in  him,  could  never  extract  from  him  a 
clear  account  of  his  doings  and  his  movements.  And 
this  South  African  excursion  was  the  last  and  worst 
illustration  of  his  wilful  cruel  harshness  to  her. 

Nevertheless,  the  extreme  and  unimaginable  re- 
moteness of  South  Africa  seemed  to  demand  a  special 
high  formality  in  bidding  him  adieu,  and  she  rendered 
it.  If  he  would  not  permit  her  to  superintend  his 
packing — (he  had  never  even  let  her  come  to  his 
rooms!) — she  could  at  least  superintend  the  putting 
on  of  his  overcoat.  And  she  did.  And  instead  of 
quitting  him  as  usual  at  the  door  of  the  parlor  she 
insisted  on  going  to  the  front  door  and  opening  it 
herself.  She  was  on  her  mettle.  She  was  majestic 
and  magnificent.  By  refusing  to  see  his  ill-breeding 
she  actually  did  terminate  its  existence.  She  stood 
at  the  open  front  door  with  the  three  young  ones 
about  her,  and  by  the  force  of  her  ideal  the  front 
door  became  the  portal  of  an  embassy  and  Julian's 
departure  a  ceremony  of  state.     He  had  to  shake 

70 


THE    FEAST 

hands  all  round.  She  raised  her  cheek,  and  he  had 
to  kiss.  She  said,  "God  bless  you,"  and  he  had  to 
say,  "Thank  you." 

As  he  was  descending  the  outer  steps,  the  pipe- 
case  clipped  under  his  arm,  Louis  threw  at  him : 

"I  say,  old  man." 

"What?"  He  turned  round  with  sharp  defiance 
beneath  the  light  of  the  street-lamp. 

"How  are  you  going  to  get  to  London  to-morrow 
morning  in  time  for  the  boat-train  at  Waterloo,  if 
you're  staying  at  Knype  to-night?" 

Louis  traveled  little,  but  it  was  his  foible  to  be 
learned  in  boat-trains  and  "connections." 

"A  friend  o'  mine's  motoring  me  to  Stafford  at 
five  to-morrow  morning,  if  you  want  to  know.  I 
shall  catch  the  Scotch  express.     Anything  else?" 

"Oh!"  muttered  Louis,  checked. 

Julian  clanked  the  gate  and  vanished  up  the  street, 
Mrs.  Maldon  waving. 

"What  friend?  What  motor?"  reflected  Mrs. 
Maldon,  sadly.  "He  is  incorrigible  with  his  se- 
cretiveness." 

"Mrs.  Maldon,"  said  Rachel  anxiously,  "you  look 
pale.  Is  it  being  in  this  draught?"  She  shut  the 
door. 

Mrs.  Maldon  sighed  and  moved  away.  She  hesi- 
tated at  the  parlor  door  and  then  said : 

"I  must  go  up-stairs  a  moment." 


IV 

IN  THE   NIGHT 


LOUIS  stood  hesitant  and  slightly  impatient  in 
J  the  parlor,  alone.  A  dark  blue  cloth  now 
covered  the  table,  and  in  the  center  of  it  was  a  large 
copper  jar  containing  an  evergreen  plant.  Of  the 
feast  no  material  trace  remained  except  a  few  crumbs 
on  the  floor.  But  the  room  was  still  pervaded  by 
the  emotional  effluence  of  the  perturbed  souls  who 
had  just  gone;  and  Louis  felt  it,  though  without 
understanding. 

Throughout  the  evening  he  had  of  course  been 
preoccupied  by  the  consciousness  of  having  in  his 
pocket  bank-notes  to  a  value  unknown.  Several 
times  he  had  sought  for  a  suitable  opportunity  to 
disclose  his  exciting  secret.  But  he  had  found  none. 
In  practice  he  could  not  say  to  his  aunt,  before 
Julian  and  Rachel:  "Auntie,  I  picked  up  a  lot  of 
bank-notes  on  the  landing.  You  really  ought  to 
be  more  careful !"  He  could  not  even  in  any  way 
refer  to  them.  The  dignity  of  Mrs.  Maldon  had 
intimidated  him.  He  had  decided,  after  Julian's 
announcement  of  departure,  that  he  would  hand 
them  over  to  her,  simply  and  undramatically  and 
with  no  triumphant  air,  as  soon  as  he  and  she  should 

72 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

for  a  moment  be  alone  together.  Then  Mrs.  Maldon 
vanished  up-stairs.  And  she  had  not  returned. 
Rachel  also  had  vanished.     And  he  was  waiting. 

He  desired  to  examine  the  notes,  to  let  his  eyes 
luxuriously  rest  upon  them,  but  he  dared  not  take 
them  from  his  pocket  lest  one  or  other  of  the  silent- 
footed  women  might  surprise  him  by  a  sudden 
entrance.  He  fingered  them  as  they  lay  in  their 
covert,  and  the  mere  feel  of  them  raised  exquisite 
images  in  his  mind;  and  at  the  same  time  the  whole 
room  and  every  object  in  the  room  was  transformed 
into  a  secret  witness  which  spied  upon  him,  dis- 
quieted him,  and  warned  him.  But  the  fact  that  the 
notes  were  intact,  that  nothing  irremediable  had 
occurred,  reassured  him  and  gave  him  strength,  so 
that  he  could  defy  the  suspicions  of  those  senseless 
surrounding  objects. 

Within  the  room  there  was  no  sound  but  the  faint 
regular  hiss  of  the  gas  and  an  occasional  falling 
together  of  coal  in  the  weakening  fire.  Overhead, 
from  his  aunt's  bedroom,  vague  movements  were 
perceptible.  Then  these  ceased,  absolutely.  The 
tension,  increasing,  grew  too  much  for  him,  and  with 
a  curt  gesture,  and  a  self-conscious  expression  be- 
tween a  smile  and  a  frown,  he  left  the  parlor  and 
stood  to  listen  in  the  lobby.  Not  for  several  seconds 
did  he  notice  the  heavy  ticking  of  the  clock,  close 
to  his  ear,  nor  the  chill  draught  that  came  under  the 
front  door.  He  gazed  up  into  the  obscurity  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs.  The  red  glow  of  the  kitchen  fire, 
in  the  distance  to  the  right  of  the  stairs,  caught  his 
attention  at  intervals.  He  was  obsessed,  almost 
overpowered,  by  the  mysteriousness  of  the  first  floor. 
What  had  happened?    What  was  happening?    And 

73 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

suddenly  an  explanation  swept  into  his  brain — the 
obvious  explanation. '  His  aunt  had  missed  the  bank- 
notes and  was  probably  at  that  very  instant  working 
herself  into  an  anguish.  What  ought  he  to  do? 
Should  he  run  up  and  knock  at  her  door?  He  was 
spared  a  decision  by  the  semi-miraculous  appearance 
of  Rachel  at  the  top  of  the  stairs.     She  started. 

"Oh!  How  you  frightened  me!"  she  exclaimed  in 
a  low  voice. 

He  answered  weakly,  charmingly: 

"Did  I?" 

"Will  you  please  come  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Maldon? 
She  wants  you." 

"In  her  room?" 

Rachel  nodded  and  disappeared  before  he  could 
ask  another  question.  With  heart  beating  he 
ascended  the  stairs  by  twos.  Through  the  half -open 
door  of  the  faintly  lit  room  which  he  himself  would 
occupy  he  could  hear  Rachel  active.  And  then  he 
was  at  the  closed  door  of  his  aunt's  room.  "I  must 
be  jolly  careful  how  I  do  it!"  he  thought  as  he 
knocked. 

ii 

He  was  surprised,  and  impressed,  to  see  Mrs. 
Maldon  in  bed.  She  lay  on  her  back,  with  her 
striking  head  raised  high  on  several  pillows.  Noth- 
ing else  of  her  was  visible;  the  purple  eider-down 
covered  the  whole  bed  without  a  crease. 

"Hello,  auntie!"  he  greeted  her,  instinctively  modi- 
fying his  voice  to  the  soft  gentleness  proper  to  the 
ordered  and  solemn  chamber. 

Mrs.  Maldon,  moving  her  head,  looked  at  him  in 
silence.     He  tiptoed  to  the  foot  of  the  bed  and 

74 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

leaned  on  it  gracefully.  And  as  in  the  parlor  his 
shadow  had  fallen  on  the  table,  so  now,  with  the 
gas  just  behind  him,  it  fell  on  the  bed.  The  room 
was  chilly  and  had  a  slight  pharmaceutical  odor. 

Mrs.  Maldon  said,  with  a  weak  effort: 

"I  was  feeling  faint,  and  Rachel  thought  I'd 
better  get  straight  to  bed.  I'm  an  old  woman, 
Louis." 

"She  hasn't  missed  them!"  he  thought  in  a  flash, 
and  said,  aloud: 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  auntie." 

He  was  aware  of  the  dim  reflection  of  himself  in 
the  mirror  of  the  immense  Victorian  mahogany  ward- 
robe to  his  left. 

Mrs.  Maldon  again  hesitated  before  speaking. 

"You  aren't  ill,  are  you,  auntie?"  he  said  in  a 
cheerful,  friendly  whisper.  He  was  touched  by  the 
poignant  pathos  of  her  great  age  and  her  debility. 
It  rent  his  heart  to  think  that  she  had  no  prospect 
but  the  grave. 

She  murmured,  ignoring  his  question : 

"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  you  needn't  go 
down  home  for  your  night  things  —  unless  you 
specially  want  to,  that  is.  I  have  all  that's  neces- 
sary here,  and  I've  given  orders  to  Rachel." 

"Certainly,  auntie.  I  won't  leave  the  house. 
That's  all  right." 

No,  she  assuredly  had  not  missed  the  notes !  He 
was  strangely  uplifted.  He  felt  almost  joyous  in  his 
relief.  Could  he  tell  her  now  as  she  lay  in  her  bed? 
Impossible !  He  would  tell  her  in  the  morning.  It 
would  be  cruel  to  disturb  her  now  with  such  a 
revelation  of  her  own  negligence.  He  vibrated  with 
sympathy  for  her,  and  he  was  proud  to  think  that 

75 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

she  appreciated  the  affectionate,  comprehending, 
subdued  intimacy  of  his  attitude  towards  her  as  he 
leaned  gracefully  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  that 
she  admired  him.  He  did  not  know,  or  rather  he 
absolutely  did  not  realize,  that  she  was  acquainted 
with  aught  against  his  good  fame.  He  forgot  his 
sins  with  the  insouciance  of  an  animal. 

"Don't  stay  up  too  late,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  as  it 
were  dismissing  him.  "A  long  night  will  do  you  no 
harm  for  once  in  a  way."  She  smiled.  "I  know 
youll  see  that  everything's  locked  up." 

He  nodded  soothingly,  and  stood  upright. 

"You  might  turn  the  gas  down,  rather  low." 

He  tripped  to  the  gas-bracket  and  put  the  room 
in  obscurity.  The  light  of  the  street-lamp  irradiated 
the  pale  green  blinds  of  the  two  windows. 

"That  do?" 

"Nicely,  thank  you!  Good  night,  my  dear.  No, 
I'm  not  ill.  But  you  know  I  have  these  little  attacks. 
And  then  bed's  the  best  place  for  me."  Her  voice 
seemed  to  expire. 

He  crept  across  the  wide  carpet  and  departed  with 
the  skill  of  a  trained  nurse,  and  inaudibly  closed 
the  door. 

From  the  landing  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  the 
house  seemed  to  offer  itself  to  him  in  the  night  as 
an  enigmatic  and  alluring  field  of  adventure.  .  .  . 
Should  he  drop  the  notes  under  the  chair  on  the 
landing,  where  he  had  found  them?  ...  He  could 
not!  He  could  not!  ...  He  moved  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  past  the  open  door  of  the  spare  bedroom, 
which  was  now  dark.  He  stopped  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  and  then  descended.     The  kitchen  was  lighted. 

"Are  you  there?"  he  asked. 

76 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

"Yes,"  replied  Rachel. 

"May  I  come ?" 

"Why,  of  course !"     Her  voice  trembled. 

He  went  towards  the  other  young  creature  in  the 
house.  The  old  one  lay  above,  in  a  different  world 
remote  and  foreign.  He  and  Rachel  had  the  ground 
floor  and  all  its  nocturnal  enchantment  to  themselves. 


in 

Mechanically,  as  he  went  into  the  kitchen,  he 
drew  his  cigarette-case  from  his  pocket.  It  was  the 
proper  gesture  of  a  man  in  any  minor  crisis.  He  was 
not  a  frequenter  of  kitchens,  and  this  visit,  even 
more  than  the  brief  first  one,  seemed  to  him  to  be 
adventurous. 

Mrs.  Maldon's  kitchen — or  rather  Rachel's — was 
small,  warm  (though  the  fire  was  nearly  out),  and 
agreeable  to  the  eye.  On  the  left  wall  was  a  deal 
dresser  full  of  crockery,  and  on  the  right,  under  the 
low  window,  a  narrow  deal  table.  In  front,  opposite 
the  door,  gleamed  the  range,  and  on  either  side  of 
the  range  were  cupboards  with  oak-grained  doors. 
There  was  a  bright  steel  fender  before  the  range,  and 
then  a  hearth-rug  on  which  stood  an  oak  rocking- 
chair.  The  floor  was  a  friendly  chequer  of  red  and 
black  tiles.  On  the  high  mantelpiece  were  canisters 
and  an  alarm-clock  and  utensils ;  sundry  other  uten- 
sils hung  on  the  walls,  among  the  colored  images  of 
sweet  girls  and  Norse-like  men  offered  by  grocers  and 
butchers  under  the  guise  of  almanacs ;  and  cupboard 
doors  ajar  dimly  disclosed  other  utensils  still,  so  that 
the  kitchen  had  the  effect  of  a  novel,  comfortable 
kind  of  workshop;  which  effect  was  helped  by  the 

77 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

clothes-drier  that  hung  on  pulley-ropes  from  the 
ceiling,  next  to  the  gas-pendant  and  to  a  stalactite 
of  onions. 

The  uncurtained  window,  instead  of  showing 
black,  gave  on  another  interior,  whitewashed,  and 
well  illuminated  by  the  kitchen  gas.  This  other 
interior  had,  under  a  previous  tenant  of  the  property, 
been  a  lean-to  greenhouse,  but  Mrs.  Maldon  esteem- 
ing a  scullery  before  a  greenhouse,  it  had  been  modi- 
fied into  a  scullery.  There  it  was  that  Julian  Maldon 
had  preferred  to  make  his  toilet.  One  had  to  pass 
through  the  scullery  in  order  to  get  from  the  kitchen 
into  the  yard.  And  the  light  of  day  had/ to  pass 
through  the  imperfectly  transparent  glass  roof  of  the 
scullery  in  order  to  reach  the  window  of  the  unused 
room  behind  the  parlor;  and  herein  lay  the  reason 
why  that  room  was  unused,  it  being  seldom  much 
brighter  than  a  crypt. 

At  the  table  stood  Rachel,  in  her  immense  pinafore- 
apron,  busy  with  knives  and  forks  and  spoons,  and 
an  enamel  basin  from  which  steam  rose  gently. 
Louis  looked  upon  Rachel,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  liked  an  apron !  It  struck  him  as  an  exceed- 
ingly piquant  addition  to  the  young  woman's  gar- 
ments. It  suited  her;  it  set  off  the  tints  of  her 
notable  hair;  and  it  suited  the  kitchen.  Without 
delaying  her  work,  Rachel  made  the  protector  of 
the  house  very  welcome.  Obviously  she  was  in  a 
high  state  of  agitation.  For  an  instant  Louis  feared 
that  the  agitation  was  due  to  anxiety  on  account  of 
Mrs.  Maldon. 

''Nothing  serious  up  with  the  old  lady,  is  there ?" 
he  asked,  pinching  the  cigarette  to  regularize  the 
tobacco  in  it. 

78 


IN    THE    NIGHT 

"Oh,™?/" 

The  exclamation  in  its  absolute  sincerity  dissi- 
pated every  trace  of  his  apprehension.  He  felt  gay, 
calmly  happy,  and  yet  excited  too.  He  was  sure, 
then,  that  Rachel's  agitation  was  a  pleasurable 
agitation.  It  was  caused  solely  by  his  entrance  into 
the  kitchen,  by  the  compliment  he  was  paying  to 
her  kitchen!  Her  eyes  glittered;  her  face  shone;  her 
little  movements  were  electric ;  she  was  intensely  con- 
scious of  herself — all  because  he  had  come  into  her 
kitchen!  She  could  not  conceal — perhaps  she  did 
not  wish  to  conceal — the  joy  that  his  near  presence 
inspired.  Louis  had  had  few  adventures,  very  few, 
and  this  experience  was  exquisite  and  wondrous  to 
him.  It  roused  not  the  fatuous  coxcomb,  nor  the 
Lothario,  but  that  in  him  which  was  honest  and 
high-spirited.  A  touch  of  the  male's  vanity,  not 
surprising,  was  to  be  excused. 

"Mrs.  Maldon,"  said  Rachel,  "had  an  idea  that 
it  was  me  who'd  suggested  your  staying  all  night 
instead  of  your  cousin.".  She  raised  her  chin,  and 
peered  at  nothing  through  the  window  as  she  rubbed 
away  at  a  spoon. 

"But  when?"  Louis  demanded, moving  towards  the 
fire.  It  appeared  to  him  that  the  conversation  had 
taken  a  most  interesting  turn. 

"When?  .  .  .  When  you  brought  the  tray  in  here 
for  me,  I  suppose." 

"And  I  suppose  you  explained  to  her  that  I  had 
the  idea  all  out  of  my  own  little  head?" 

"I  told  her  that  I  should  never  have  dreamed  of 
asking  for  such  a  thing !"  The  susceptible  and  proud 
young  creature  indicated  that  the  suggestion  was  one 
of  Mrs.  Maldon's  rare  social  errors,  and  that  Mrs. 

79 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Maldon  had  had  a  narrow  escape  of  being  snubbed 
for  it  by  the  woman  of  the  world  now  washing  silver. 
' 'I'm  no  more  afraid  of  burglars  than  you  are," 
Rachel  added.  "I  should  just  like  to  catch  a 
burglar  here — that  I  should!" 

Louis  indulgently  doubted  the  re.ality  of  this 
courage.  He  had  been  too  hastily  concluding  that 
what  Rachel  resented  was  an  insinuation  of  undue 
interest  in  himself,  whereas  she  now  made  it  seem 
that  she  was  objecting  merely  to  any  reflection  upon 
her  valor:  which  was  much  less  exciting  to  him. 
Still,  he  thought  that  both  causes  might  have  con- 
tributed to  her  delightful  indignation. 

''Why  was  she  so  keen  about  having  one  of  us  to 
sleep  here  to-night?"  Louis  inquired. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  she  was,"  answered 
Rachel.     "If  you  hadn't  said  anything — " 

"Oh,  but  do  you  know  what  she  said  to  me 
up-stairs?" 

"No." 

"She  didn't  want  me  even  to  go  back  to  my  digs 
for  my  things.  Evidently  she  doesn't  care  for  the 
house  to  be  left  even  for  half  an  hour." 

"Well,  of  course  old  people  are  apt  to  get  nervous, 
you  know — especially  when  they're  not  well!" 

"Funny,  isn't  it?" 

There  was  perfect  unanimity  between  them  as  to 
the  irrational  singularity  and  sad  weakness  of  aged 
persons. 

Louis  remarked: 

"She  said  you  would  make  everything  right  for 
me  up-stairs." 

"I  have  done — I  hope,"  said  Rachel. 

"Thanks  awfully!" 

80 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

One  part  of  the  table  was  covered  with  newspaper. 
Suddenly  Rachel  tore  a  strip  off  the  newspaper, 
folded  the  strip  into  a  spill,  and,  lighting  it  at  the 
gas,  tendered  it  to  Louis'  unlit  cigarette. 

The  climax  of  the  movement  was  so  quick  and 
unexpected  as  almost  to  astound  Louis.  For  he  had 
been  standing  behind  her,  and  she  had  not  turned 
her  head  before  making  the  spill.  Perhaps  there  was 
a  faint  reflection  of  himself  in  the  window.  Or  per- 
haps she  had  eyes  in  her  hair.  Beyond  doubt  she 
was  a  strange,  rare,  angelic  girl.  The  gesture  with 
which  she  modestly  offered  the  spill  was  angelic;  it 
was  divine;  it  was  one  of  those  phenomena  which 
persist  in  a  man's  memory  for  decades.  At  the  very 
instant  of  its  happening  he  knew  that  he  should 
never  forget  it. 

The  man  of  fashion  blushed  as  he  inhaled  the  first 
smoke  created  by  her  fire. 

Rachel  dropped  the  heavenly  emblem,  all  burning, 
into  the  ash-bin  of  the  range,  and  resumed  her  work. 

Louis  coughed.  "Any  law  against  sitting  down?" 
he  asked. 

"You're  very  welcome,"  she  replied,  primly. 

"I  didn't  know  I  might  smoke,"  he  said. 

She  made  no  answer  at  first,  but  just  as  Louis  had 
ceased  to  expect  an  answer,  she  said: 

"I  should  think  if  you  can  smoke  in  the  sitting- 
room  you  can  smoke  in  the  kitchen  —  shouldn't 
you?" 

"I  should,"  said  he. 

There  was  silence,  but  silence  not  disagreeable. 
Louis,  lolling  in  the  chair,  and  slightly  rocking  it, 
watched  Rachel  at  her  task.  She  completely  im- 
mersed spoons  and  forks  in  the  warm  water,  and  then 
6  81 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

rubbed  them  with  a  brush  like  a  large  nail-brush, 
giving  particular  attention  to  the  inside  edges  of  the 
prongs  of  the  forks;  and  then  she  laid  them  all  wet 
on  a  thick  cloth  to  the  right  of  the  basin.  But  of 
the  knives  she  immersed  only  the  blades,  and  took 
the  most  meticulous  care  that  no  drop  of  water 
should  reach  the  handles. 

"I  never  knew  knives  and  forks  and  things  were 
washed  like  that,"  observed  Louis. 

"They  generally  aren't,"  said  Rachel.  "But  they 
ought  to  be.  I  leave  all  the  other  washing-up  for 
the  charwoman  in  the  morning,  but  I  wouldn't  trust 
these  to  her."  (The  charwoman  had  been  washing 
up  cutlery  since  before  Rachel  w&s  born.)  "They're 
all  alike,"  said  Rachel. 

Louis  acquiesced  sagely  in  this  broad  generalization 
as  to  charwomen. 

"Why  don't  you  wash  the  handles  of  the  knives?" 
he  queried. 

"It  makes  them  come  loose." 

"Really?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  didn't  know  that 
water,  specially  warm  water  with  soda  in  it,  loosens 
the  handles?"  She  showed  astonishment,  but  her 
gaze  never  left  the  table  in  front  of  her. 

"Not  me!" 

"Well,  I  should  have  thought  that  everybody 
knew  that.  Some  people  use  a  jug,  and  fill  it  up 
with  water  just  high  enough  to  cover  the  blades,  and 
stick  the  knives  in  to  soak.  But  I  don't  hold  with 
that  because  of  the  steam,  you  see.  Steam's  nearly 
as  bad  as  water  for  the  handles.  And  then  some 
people  drop  the  knives  wholesale  into  a  basin  just 
for'a  second,  to  wash  the  handles.     But  I  don't  hold 

82 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

with  that,  either.  What  I  say  is  that  you  can  get 
the  handles  clean  with  the  cloth  you  wipe  them  dry 
with.     That's  what  I  say." 

"And  so  there's  soda  in  the  water?" 

"A  little." 

"Well,  I  never  knew  that,  either!  It's  quite  a 
business,  it  seems  to  me." 

Without  doubt  Louis'  notions  upon  domestic  work 
were  being  modified  with  extreme  rapidity.  In  the 
suburb  from  which  he  sprang,  domestic  work — and 
in  particular  washing  up — had  been  regarded  as 
base,  foul,  humiliating,  unmentionable — as  toil  that 
any  slut  might  perform  anyhow.  It  would  have 
been  inconceivable  to  him  that  he  should  admire  a 
girl  in  the  very  act  of  washing  up.  Young  ladies, 
even  in  exclusive  suburban  families,  were  sometimes 
forced  by  circumstances  to  wash  up — of  that  he  was 
aware — but  they  washed  up  in  secret  and  in  shame, 
and  it  was  proper  for  all  parties  to  pretend  that  they 
never  had  washed  up.  And  here  was  Rachel  convert- 
ing the  horrid  process  into  a  dignified  and  impressive 
ritual.  She  made  it  as  fine  as  fine  needlework — so 
exact,  so  dainty,  so  proud  were  the  motions  of  her 
fingers  and  her  forearms.  Obviously  washing  up 
was  an  art,  and  the  delicate  operation  could  not  be 
scamped  nor  hurried.  .  .  . 

The  triple  pile  of  articles  on  the  cloth  grew  slowly, 
but  it  grew;  and  then  Rachel,  having  taken  a  fresh 
white  cloth  from  a  hook,  began  to  wipe,  and  her 
wiping  was  an  art.  She  seemed  to  recognize  each 
fork  as  a  separate  individuality,  and  to  attend  to  it 
as  to  a  little  animal.  Whatever  her  view  of  char- 
women, never  would  she  have  said  of  forks  that  they 
were  all  alike.  .  , 


THE    PRICE    OF   LOVE 

Louis  felt  in  his  hip  pocket  for  his  reserve  cigarette- 
case. 

And  Rachel  immediately  said  with  her  back  to 
him: 

"Have  you  really  got  a  revolver,  or  were  you 
teasing — just  now  in  the  parlor  ?" 

It  was  then  that  he  perceived  a  small  unframed 
mirror,  hung  at  the  height  of  her  face  on  the  broad 
central  perpendicular  bar  of  the  old-fashioned 
window-frame.  Through  this  mirror  the  chit — so  he 
named  her  in  his  mind  at  the  instant — had  been 
surveying  him ! 

"Yes,"  he  said,  producing  the  second  cigarette- 
case,  "I  was  only  teasing."  He  lit  a  fresh  cigarette 
from  the  end  of  the  previous  one. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "you  did  frighten  Mrs.  Maldon. 
I  was  so  sorry  for  her." 

1 '  And  what  about  you  ?    Weren't  you  frightened  ?" 

"Oh  no!  I  wasn't  frightened.  I  guessed,  some- 
how, you  were  only  teasing." 

"Well,  I  just  wasn't  teasing,  then!"  said  Louis, 
triumphantly  yet  with  benevolence.  And  he  drew 
a  revolver  from  his  pocket. 

She  turned  her  head  now,  and  glanced  neutrally 
at  the  incontestable  revolver  for  a  second.  But  she 
made  no  remark  whatever,  unless  the  pouting  of  her 
tightly  shut  lips  and  a  mysterious  smile  amounted  to 
a  remark. 

Louis  adopted  an  indifferent  tone: 

"Strange  that  the  old  lady  should  be  so  nervous 
just  to-night — isn't  it? — seeing  these  burglars  have 
been  knocking  about  for  over  a  fortnight.  Is  this 
the  first  time  she's  got  excited  about  it?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  said  Rachel,  faintly,_as  it 

84 


IN   THE   NIGHT 

were  submissively,  with  no  sign  of  irritation  against 
him. 

With  their  air  of  worldliness  and  mature  wisdom 
they  twittered  on  like  a  couple  of  sparrows — inconse- 
quently,  capriciously;  and  nothing  that  they  said  had 
the  slightest  originality,  weight,  or  importance.  But 
they  both  thought  that  their  conversation  was  full 
of  significance;  which  it  was,  though  they  could  not 
explain  it  to  themselves.  What  they  happened  to 
say  did  not  matter  in  the  least.  If  they  had  recited 
the  Koran  to  each  other  the  inexplicable  significance 
of  their  words  would  have  been  the  same. 

Rachel  faced  him  again,  leaning  her  hands  behind 
her  on  the  table,  and  said  with  the  most  enchanting, 
persuasive  friendliness : 

"I  wasn't  frightened — truly!  I  don't  know  why 
I  looked  as  though  I  was." 

"You  mean  about  the  revolver — in  the  sitting- 
room  ?"  He  jumped  nimbly  back  after  her  to  the 
revolver  question. 

"Yes.  Because  I'm  quite  used  to  revolvers,  you 
know.  My  brother  had  one.  Only  his  was  a  Colt — 
one  of  those  long  things." 

"Your  brother,  eh?" 

"Yes.     Did  you  know  him?" 

"I  can't  say  I  did,"  Louis  replied,  with  some 
constraint. 

Rachel  said  with  generous  enthusiasm: 

"He's  a  wonderful  shot,  my  brother  is!" 

Louis  was  curiously  touched  by  the  warmth  of  her 
reference  to  her  brother.  In  the  daily  long  monoto- 
nous column  of  advertisements  headed  succinctly 
"Money"  in  the  Staffordshire  Signal,  there  once  used 
to  appear  the  following  invitation:  "WE  NEVER 

85 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

REFUSE  a  loan  to  a  responsible  applicant.  No 
fussy  inquiries.  Distance  no  object.  Reasonable 
terms.  Strictest  privacy.  £3  to  £10,000.  Apply 
personally  or  by  letter.  Lovelace  Curzon,  7  Col- 
clough  Street,  Knype."  Upon  a  day  Louis  had 
chosen  that  advertisement  from  among  its  rivals,  and 
had  written  to  Lovelace  Curzon.  But  on  the  very 
next  day  he  had  come  into  his  thousand  pounds,  and 
so  had  lost  the  advantage  of  business  relations  with 
Lovelace  Curzon.  Lovelace  Curzon,  as  he  had 
learnt  later,  was  Reuben  Fleckring,  Rachel's  father. 
Or,  more  accurately,  Lovelace  Curzon  was  Reuben 
Fleckring,  junior,  Rachel's  brother,  a  young  man  in 
a  million.  Reuben,  senior,  had  been  for  many  years 
an  entirely  mediocre  and  ambitionless  clerk  in  a  large 
works  where  Julian  Maldon  had  learnt  potting,  when 
Reuben,  junior  (whom  he  blindly  adored),  had 
dragged  him  out  of  clerkship,  and  set  him  up  as  the 
nominal  registered  head  of  a  money-lending  firm. 
An  amazing  occurrence!  At  that  time  Reuben, 
junior,  was  a  minor,  scarcely  eighteen.  Yet  his  turn 
for  finance  had  been  such  that  he  had  already 
amassed  reserves,  and — without  a  drop  of  Jewish 
blood  in  his  veins — possessed  confidence  enough  to 
compete  in  their  own  field  with  the  acutest  Hebrews 
of  the  district.  Reuben,  senior,  was  the  youth's  tool. 
In  a  few  years  Lovelace  Curzon  had  made  a  mighty 
and  terrible  reputation  in  the  world  where  expendi- 
tures exceed  incomes.  And  then  the  subterranean 
news  of  the  day — not  reported  in  the  Signal — was 
that  something  serious  had  happened  to  Lovelace 
Curzon.  And  the  two  Fleckrings  went  to  America, 
the  father,  as  usual,  hypnotized  by  the  son.  And 
they  left  no  wrack  behind  save  Rachel. 

86 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

It  was  at  this  period — only  a  few  months  previous 
to  the  opening  of  the  present  narrative — that  the 
district  had  first  heard  aught  of  the  women  folk  c  t 
the  Fleckrings.  An  aunt,  Reuben,  senior's,  sister — 
it  appeared — had  died  several  years  earlier;  since 
when  Rachel  had  alone  kept  house  for  her  brother 
and  her  father.  According  to  rumor  the  three  had 
lived  in  the  simplicity  of  relative  poverty,  utterly 
unvisited  except  by  clients.  No  good  smell  of  money 
had  ever  escaped  from  the  small  front  room  which 
was  employed  as  an  office  into  the  domestic  portion 
of  the  house.  It  was  alleged  that  Rachel  had  existed 
in  perfect  ignorance  of  all  details  of  the  business. 
It  was  also  alleged  that  when  the  sudden  crisis 
arrived,  her  brother  had  told  her  that  she  would  not 
be  taken  to  America,  and  that,  briefly,  she  must 
shift  for  herself  in  the  world.  It  was  alleged  further 
that  he  had  given  her  forty-five  pounds.  (Why 
forty-five  pounds  and  not  fifty,  none  knew.)  The 
whole  affair  had  begun  and  finished — and  the  house 
was  sold  up — in  four  days.  Public  opinion  in  the 
street  and  in  Knype  blew  violently  against  the  two 
Reubens,  but  as  they  were  on  the  Atlantic  it  did  not 
affect  them.  Rachel,  with  scarcely  an  acquaintance 
in  the  world  in  which  she  was  to  shift  for  herself, 
found  that  she  had  a  streetful  of  friends!  It  trans- 
pired that  everybody  had  always  divined  that  she 
was  a  girl  of  admirable  efficient  qualities.  She  be- 
haved as  though  her  brother  and  father  had  behaved 
in  a  quite  usual  and  proper  manner.  Assistance  in  the 
enterprise  of  shifting  for  herself  she  welcomed,  but 
not  sympathy.  The  devotion  of  the  Fleckring  women 
began  to  form  a  legend.  People  said  that  Rachel's 
aunt  had  been  another  such  creature  as  Rachel. 

87 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Hence  the  effect  on  Louis,  who  through  his  aunt 
and  his  cousin  was  acquainted  with  the  main  facts 
i.nd  surmises,  of  Rachel's  glowing  reference  to  the 
vanished  Reuben. 

"  Where  did  your  brother  practise ?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  cellar." 

"Of  course  it's  easier  with  a  long  barrel." 

"Is  it?"  she  said,  incredulously.  "You  should  see 
my  brother's  score-card  the  first  time  he  shot  at  that 
new  miniature  rifle-range  in  Hanbridge!" 

"Why?     Is  it  anything  special?" 

"Well,  you  should  see  it.  Five  bulls  all  cutting 
into  each  other." 

"I  should  have  liked  to  see  that." 

"I've  got  it  up-stairs  in  my  trunk,"  said  she, 
proudly.     "I  dare  say  I'll  show  it  you  sometime." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  he  urged. 

Such  loyalty  moved  him  deeply.  Louis  had  had 
no  sisters.  And  his  youthful  suburban  experience 
of  other  people's  sisters  had  not  fostered  any  belief 
that  loyalty  was  an  outstanding  quality  of  sisters. 
Like  very  numerous  young  men  of  the  day,  he  had 
passed  an  unfavorable  judgment  upon  young  women. 
He  had  found  them  greedy  for  diversion,  amazingly 
ruthless  in  their  determination  to  exact  the  utmost 
possible  expensiveness  of  pleasure  in  return  for  their 
casual  society,  hard,  cruelly  clever  in  conversation, 
efficient  in  certain  directions,  but  hating  any  sus- 
tained effort,  and  either  socially  or  artistically  or 
politically  snobbish.  Snobs  all !  Money- worshipers 
all !  .  .  .  Well,  nearly  all !  It  mattered  not  whether 
you  were  one  of  the  dandies  or  one  of  the  hatless  or 
Fletcherite  corps  that  lolled  on  foot  or  on  bicycles, 
or  shot  on  motor-cycles,  through  the  prim  streets  of 

88 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

the  suburb — the  young  women  would  not  remain  in 
dalliance  with  you  for  the  mere  sake  of  your  beautiful 
eyes.  Because  they  were  girls  they  would  take  all 
that  you  had  and  more,  and  give  you  nothing  but 
insolence  or  condescension  in  exchange.  Such  was 
Louis'  judgment,  and  scores  of  times  he  had  con- 
firmed it  in  private  saloon-lounge  talk  with  his 
compeers.  It  had  not,  however,  rendered  the  society 
of  these  unconscionable  and  cold  female  creatures 
distasteful  to  him.  Not  a  bit !  He  had  even  sought 
it  and  been  ready  to  pay  for  that  society  in  the 
correct  manner — even  to  imperturbably  beggaring 
himself  of  his  final  sixpence  in  order  to  do  the 
honors  of  the  latest  cinema.  Only,  he  had  a  sense 
of  human  superiority.  It  certainly  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  in  the  victimized  young  men  there  might 
exist  faults  which  complemented  those  of  the  para- 
sitic young  women. 

And  now  he  contrasted  these  young  women  with 
Rachel !  And  he  fell  into  a  dreamy  mood  of  delight 
in  her.  .  .  .  Her  gesture  in  lighting  his  cigarette! 
Marvelous !  Tear  -  compelling !  .  .  .  Flippancy 
dropped  away  from  him.  .  .  .  She  liked  him.  With 
the  most  alluring  innocence,  she  did  not  conceal  that 
she  liked  him.  He  remembered  that  the  last  time 
he  called  at  his  aunt's  he  had  remarked  something 
strange,  something  disturbing,  in  Rachel's  candid 
demeanor  towards  himself.  He  had  made  an  im- 
pression on  her!  He  had  given  her  the  lightning- 
stroke  !  No  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to  his  own  worthi- 
ness crossed  his  mind. 

What  did  cross  his  mind  was  that  she  was  not 
quite  of  his  own  class.  In  the  suburb,  where  "sets" 
are  divided  one  from  another  by  unscalable  barriers, 

89 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

she  could  not  have  aspired  to  him.  But  in  the 
kitchen,  now  become  the  most  beautiful  and  agree- 
able and  romantic  interior  that  he  had  ever  seen — in 
the  kitchen  he  could  somehow  perceive  with  absolute 
clearness  that  the  snobbery  of  caste  was  silly, 
negligible,  laughable,  contemptible.  Yes,  he  could 
perceive  all  that!  Life  in  the  kitchen  seemed  ideal 
— life  with  that  loyalty  and  that  candor  and  that 
charm  and  that  lovely  seriousness!  Moreover,  he 
could  teach  her.  She  had  already  blossomed — in  a 
fortnight.  She  was  blossoming.  She  would  blossom 
further. 

Odd  that,  when  he  had  threatened  to  pull  out  a 
revolver,  she,  so  accustomed  to  revolvers,  should  have 
taken  a  girlish  alarm!  That  queer  detail  of  her 
behavior  was  extraordinarily  seductive.  But  far 
beyond  everything  else  it  was  the  grand  loyalty  of 
her  nature  that  drew  him.  He  wanted  to  sink  into 
it  as  into  a  bed  of  down.  He  really  needed  it. 
Enveloped  in  that  loving  loyalty  of  a  creature  who 
gave  all  and  demanded  nothing,  he  felt  that  he 
could  truly  be  his  best  self,  that  he  could  work 
marvels.     His  eyes  were  moist  with  righteous  ardor. 

The  cutlery  reposed  in  a  green-lined  basket.  She 
had  doffed  the  apron  and  hung  it  behind  the  scullery 
door.  With  all  the  delicious  curves  of  her  figure 
newly  revealed,  she  was  reaching  the  alarm-clock 
down  from  the  mantelpiece,  and  then  she  was  wind- 
ing it  up.  The  ratchet  of  the  wheel  clacked,  and 
the  hurried  ticking  was  loud.  In  the  grate  of  the 
range  burned  one  spot  of  gloomy  red. 

"Your  bedtime,  I  suppose,"  he  murmured,  rising 
elegantly. 

She  smiled.     She  said : 

90 


IN    THE    NIGHT 

"Shall  you  lock  up,  or  shall  I?" 

"Oh!  I  think  I  know  all  the  tricks/ '  he  replied, 
and  thought:  "She's  a  pretty  direct  sort  of  girl, 
anyway !" 

IV 

About  an  hour  later  he  went  up  to  his  room.  It 
was  a  fact  that  everything  had  been  made  right  for 
him.  The  gas  burned  low.  He  raised  it,  and  it 
shone  directly  upon  the  washstand  which  glittered 
with  the  ivory  glaze  of  large  earthenware,  and  the 
whiteness  of  towels  that  displayed  all  the  creases  of 
their  folding.  There  was  a  new  cake  of  soap  in  the 
ample  soap-dish,  and  a  new  tooth-brush  in  a  sheath 
of  transparent  paper  lay  on  the  marble.  "Rather 
complete,  this!"  he  reflected.  The  nail-brush — an 
article  in  which  he  specialized — was  worn,  but  it  was 
worn  evenly  and  had  cost  good  money.  The  water- 
bottle  dazzled  him;  its  polished  clarity  was  truly 
crystalline.  He  could  not  remember  ever  having 
seen  a  toilet  array  so  shining  with  strict  cleanness. 
Indeed,  it  was  probable  that  he  had  never  set  eyes 
on  an  absolutely  clean  water-bottle  before;  the 
qualities  associated  with  water-bottles  in  his  memory 
were  semi-opacity  and  spottiness. 

The  dressing-table  matched  the  washstand.  A 
carriage  clock  in  leather  had  been  placed  on  the 
mantelpiece.  In  front  of  the  mantelpiece  was  an  old 
embroidered  fire-screen.  Peeping  between  the  screen 
and  the  grate,  he  saw  that  a  fire  had  been  scientifi- 
cally laid,  ready  for  lighting;  but  some  bits  of  paper 
and  oddments  on  the  top  of  the  coal  showed  that  it 
was  not  freshly  laid.  The  grate  had  a  hob  at  one 
side,  and  on  this  was  a  small  bright  tin  kettle.     The 

9i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

bed  was  clearly  a  good  bed,  resilient,  softly  garnished. 
On  it  was  stretched  a  long  striped  garment  of  flannel, 
with  old-fashioned  pearl  buttons  at  neck  and  sleeves. 
An  honest  garment,  quite  surely  unshrinkable!  No 
doubt  in  the  sixties,  long  before  the  mind  of  man 
had  leaped  to  the  fine  perverse  conception  of  the 
decorated  pajama,  this  garment  had  enjoyed  the 
fullest  correctness.  Now,  after  perhaps  forty  years 
in  the  cupboards  of  Mrs.  Maldon,  it  seemed  to  recall 
the  more  excellent  attributes  of  an  already  forgotten 
past,  and  to  rebuke  what  was  degenerate  in  the  present. 

Louis,  ranging  over  his  experiences  in  the  dis- 
orderly and  mean  pretentiousness  of  the  suburban 
home,  and  in  the  discomfort  of  various  lodgings, 
appreciated  the  grave,  comfortable  benignity  of  that 
bedroom.  Its  appeal  to  his  senses  was  so  strong  that 
it  became  for  him  almost  luxurious.  The  bedroom 
at  his  latest  lodgings  was  full  of  boot-trees  and 
trouser-stretchers  and  coat-holders,  but  it  was  a 
paltry  thing  and  a  grimy.  He  saw  the  daily  and 
hourly  advantages  of  marriage  with  a  loving,  simple 
woman  whose  house  was  her  pride.  He  had  a  longing 
for  solidities,  certitudes,  and  righteousness. 

Musing  delectably,  he  drew  aside  the  crimson 
curtain  from  the  window  and  beheld  the  same  pros- 
pect that  Rachel  had  beheld  on  her  walk  towards 
Friendly  Street — the  obscurity  of  the  park,  the  chain 
of  lamps  down  the  slope  of  Moorthorne  Road,  and 
the  distant  fires  of  industry  still  further  beyond, 
towards  Toft  End.  He  had  hated  the  foul,  sordid, 
ragged  prospects  and  vistas  of  the  Five  Towns  when 
he  came  new  to  them  from  London,  and  he  had 
continued  to  hate  them.  They  desolated  him.  But 
to-night  he  thought  of  them  sympathetically.     It 

92 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

was  as  if  he  was  divining  in  them  for  the  first  time 
a  recondite  charm.  He  remembered  what  an  old 
citizen  named  Dain  had  said  one  evening  at  the 
Conservative  Club:  "People  may  say  what  they 
choose  about  Bursley.  IVe  just  returned  from 
London  and  I  tell  thee  I  was  glad  to  get  back.  I 
like  Bursley.' '  A  grotesque  saying,  he  had  thought, 
then.  Yet  now  he  positively  felt  himself  capable  of 
sharing  the  sentiment.  Rachel  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  kitchen  in  the  town,  and  the  town  amid  those 
scarred  and  smoking  hillocks!  .  .  .  Invisible  phe- 
nomena! Mysterious  harmonies!  The  influence  of 
the  night  solaced  and  uplifted  him  and  bestowed  on 
him  new  faculties  of  perception. 

At  length,  deciding,  after  characteristic  procrasti- 
nation, that  he  must  really  go  to  bed,  he  wound  up 
his  watch  and  put  it  on  the  dressing-table.  His 
pockets  had  to  be  emptied  and  his  clothes  hung  or 
folded.  His  fingers  touched  the  notes  in  the  left- 
hand  outside  pocket  of  his  coat.  Not  for  one  instant 
had  the  problem  of  the  bank-notes  been  absent  from 
his  mind.  Throughout  the  conversation  with  Ra- 
chel, throughout  the  interval  between  her  retirement 
and  his  own,  throughout  his  meditations  in  the  bed- 
room, he  had  not  once  escaped  from  the  obsession 
of  the  bank-notes  and  their  problem.  He  knew  now 
how  the  problem  must  be  solved.  There  was,  after 
all,  only  one  solution,  and  it  was  extremely  simple. 
He  must  put  the  notes  back  where  he  had  found 
them,  underneath  the  chair  on  the  landing.  If 
advisable,  he  might  rediscover  them  in  the  morning 
and  surrender  them  immediately.  But  they  must 
not  remain  in  his  room  during  the  night.  He  must 
not  examine  them — he  must  not  look  at  them. 

93 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

He  approached  the  door  quickly,  lest  he  might 
never  reach  the  door.  But  he  was  somehow  forced 
to  halt  at  the  wardrobe,  to  see  if  it  had  coat-holders. 
It  had  one  coat-holder.  .  .  .  His  hand  was  on  the 
door-knob.  He  turned  it  with  every  species  of  pre- 
caution— and  it  complained  loudly  in  the  still  night. 
The  door  opened,  with  a  terrible  explosive  noise  of 
protest.  He  gazed  into  the  darkness  of  the  landing, 
and  presently,  by  the  light  from  the  bedroom,  could 
distinguish  the  vague  boundaries  of  it.  The  chair, 
invisible,  was  to  the  left.  He  opened  the  door  wider 
to  the  noctural  riddle  of  the  house.  His  hand  clasped 
the  notes  in  his  pocket.  No  sound !'  He  listened  for 
the  ticking  of  the  lobby  clock  and  could  not  catch 
it.  He  listened  more  intently.  It  was  impossible 
that  he  should  not  hear  the  ticking  of  the  lobby 
clock.  Was  he  dreaming?  Was  he  under  some  de- 
lusion? Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  lobby  clock 
must  have  run  down  or  otherwise  stopped.  Clocks 
did  stop.  .  .  .  And  then  his  heart  bounded  and  his 
flesh  crept.  He  had  heard  footsteps  somewhere 
below.  Or  were  the  footsteps  merely  in  his  imagi- 
nation? 

Alone  in  the  parlor,  after  Rachel  had  gone  to  bed, 
he  had  spent  some  time  in  gazing  at  the  Signal;  for 
there  had  been  absolutely  nothing  else  to  do,  and  he 
could  not  have  thought  of  sleep  at  such  an  early 
hour.  It  is  true  that,  with  his  intense  preoccupa- 
tions, he  had  for  the  most  part  gazed  uncompre- 
hendingly  at  the  Signal.  The  tale  of  the  latest 
burglaries,  however,  had  by  virtue  of  its  intrinsic 
interest  reached  his  brain  through  his  eyes,  and  had 
impressed  him,  despite  preoccupations.  And  now, 
as  he  stood  in  the  gloom  at  the  door  of  his  bedroom 

94 


IN    THE    NIGHT 

and  waited  feverishly  for  the  sound  of  more  foot- 
steps, it  was  inevitable  that  visions  of  burglars  should 
disturb  him. 

The  probability  of  burglars  visiting  any  particular 
house  in  the  town  was  infinitely  slight — his  common 
sense  told  him  that.  But  supposing — just  supposing 
that  they  actually  had  chosen  his  aunt's  abode  for 
their  prey!  .  .  .  Conceivably  they  had  learnt  that 
Mrs.  Maldon  was  to  have  a  large  sum  of  money  under 
her  roof.  Conceivably  a  complex  plan  had  been 
carefully  laid.  Conceivably  one  of  the  great  bur- 
glaries of  criminal  history  might  be  in  progress.  It 
was  not  impossible.  No  wonder  that,  with  bank- 
notes loose  all  over  the  place,  his  shockingly  negligent 
auntie  should  have  special  qualms  concerning  bur- 
glars on  that  night  of  all  nights!  Fortunate  indeed 
that  he  carried  a  revolver,  that  the  revolver  was 
loaded,  and  that  he  had  some  skill  to  use  it!  A 
dramatic  surprise — his  gun  and  the  man  behind  it 
— for  burglars  who  had  no  doubt  counted  on  having 
to  deal  with  a  mere  couple  of  women!  He  had  but 
to  remove  his  shoes  and  creep  down  the  stairs.  He 
felt  at  the  revolver  in  his  pocket.  Often  had  he 
pictured  himself  in  the  act  of  calmly  triumphing  over 
burglars  or  other  villains. 

Then,  with  no  further  hesitation,  he  silently  closed 
the  door — on  the  inside!  .  .  .  How  could  there  be 
burglars  in  the  house?  The  suspicion  was  folly. 
What  he  had  heard  could  be  naught  but  the  nocturnal 
cracking  and  yielding  of  an  old  building  at  night. 
Was  it  not  notorious  that  the  night  was  full  of 
noises?  And  even  if  burglars  had  entered!  .  .  . 
Better,  safer,  to  ignore  them !  They  could  not  make 
off  with  a  great  deal,  for  the  main  item  of  prey 

95 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

happened  to  be  in  his  own  pocket.  Let  them  search 
for  the  treasure !  If  they  had  the  effrontery  to  come 
searching  in  his  bedroom,  he  would  give  them  a 
reception!  Let  them  try!  He  looked  at  the  re- 
volver, holding  it  beneath  the  gas.  Could  he  aim 
it  at  a  human  being?  .  .  . 

Or — another  explanation — possibly  Rachel,  having 
forgotten  something  or  having  need  of  something, 
had  gone  down-stairs  for  it.  He  had  not  thought  of 
that.  But  what  more  natural?  Sudden  toothache 
— a  desire  for  laudanum — a  visit  to  a  store  cupboard : 
such  was  the  classic  order  of  events. 

He  listened,  secure  within  the  four  walls  of  his 
bedroom.  He  smiled.  He  could  have  fancied  that 
he  heard  an  electric  bell  ring  ever  so  faintly  at  a 
distance — in  the  next  house,  in  the  next  world. 

He  laughed  to  himself. 

Then  at  length  he  moved  again  towards  the  door; 
and  he  paused  in  front  of  it.  There  were  no  burglars ! 
The  notion  of  burglars  was  idiotic!  He  must  put 
the  notes  back  under  the  chair.  His  whole  salvation 
depended  upon  his  putting  the  notes  back  under  the 
chair  on  the  landing !  .  .  .  An  affair  of  two  seconds ! 
.  .  .  With  due  caution  he  opened  the  door.  And 
simultaneously,  at  the  very  selfsame  instant,  he 
most  distinctly  heard  the  click  of  the  latch  of  his 
aunt's  bedroom  door,  next  his  own!  Now,  in  a 
horrible  quandary,  trembling  and  perspiring,  he  felt 
completely  nonplussed.  He  pushed  his  own  door  to, 
but  without  quite  closing  it,  for  fear  of  a  noise;  and 
edged  away  from  it  towards  the  fireplace. 

Had  his  aunt  wakened  up,  and  felt  a  misgiving 
about  the  notes,  and  found  that  they  were  not  where 
they  ought  to  be? 

96 


IN   THE    NIGHT 

No  further  sound  came  through  the  crack  of  his 
door.  In  the  dwelling  absolute  silence  seemed  to  be 
established.  He  stood  thus  for  an  indefinite  period 
in  front  of  the  fireplace,  the  brain's  action  apparently- 
suspended,  until  his  agitation  was  somewhat  com- 
posed. And  then,  because  he  had  no  clear  plan  in 
his  head,  he  put  his  hand  into  the  pocket  containing 
the  notes  and  drew  them  out.  And  immediately  he 
was  aware  of  a  pleasant  feeling  of  relief,  as  one  who, 
after  battling  against  a  delicious  and  shameful  habit, 
yields  and  is  glad.  The  beauty  of  the  notes  was 
eternal;  no  use  could  stale  it.  Their  intoxicating 
effect  on  him  was  just  as  powerful  now  as  before 
supper.  And  now,  as  then,  the  mere  sight  of  them 
filled  him  with  a  passionate  conviction  that  without 
them  he  would  be  ruined.  His  tricks  to  destroy  the 
suspicions  of  Horrocleave  could  not  possibly  be 
successful.  Within  twenty-four  hours  he  might  be 
in  prison  if  he  could  not  forthwith  command  a  certain 
sum  of  money.  And  even  possessing  the  money,  he 
would  still  have  an  extremely  difficult  part  to  play. 
It  would  be  necessary  for  him  to  arrive  early  at  the 
works,  to  change  notes  for  gold  in  the  safe,  to  erase 
many  of  his  penciled  false  additions,  to  devise  a 
postponement  of  his  crucial  scene  with  Horrocleave, 
and  lastly  to  invent  a  plausible  explanation  of  the 
piling  up  of  a  cash  reserve. 

If  he  had  not  been  optimistic  and  an  incurable 
procrastinator  and  believer  in  luck  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, he  would  have  seen  that  nothing  but  a  miracle 
could  save  him  if  Horrocleave  were  indeed  suspicious. 
Happily  for  his  peace  of  mind,  he  was  incapable  of 
looking  a  fact  in  the  face.  Against  all  reason  he 
insisted  to  himself  that  with  the  notes  he  might  reach 
7  97 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

\  salvation.     He  did  not  trouble  even  to  estimate  the 
chances  of  the  notes  being  traced  by  their  numbers. 
\  Such  is  the  magic  force  of  a  weak  character. 

But  he  powerfully  desired  not  to  steal  the  notes, 
or  any  of  them.  The  image  of  Rachel  rose  between 
him  and  his  temptation.  Her  honesty,  candor, 
loyalty,  had  revealed  to  him  the  beauty  of  the  ways 
of  righteousness.  He  had  been  born  again  in  her 
glance.  He  swore  he  would  do  nothing  unworthy  of 
the  ideal  she  had  unconsciously  set  up  in  him.  He 
admitted  that  it  was  supremely  essential  for  him  to 
restore  the  notes  to  the  spot  whence  he  had  removed 
them.  .  .  .  And  yet — if  he  did  so,  and  was  lost? 
What  then?-  For  one  second  he  saw  himself  in  the 
dock  at  the  police-court  in  the  town  hall.  Awful 
hallucination !  If  it  became  reality,  what  use,  then, 
his  obedience  to  the  new  ideal?  Better  to  accom- 
plish this  one  act  of  treason  to  the  ideal  in  order  to 
be  able  forever  afterwards  to  obey  it  and  to  look 
Rachel  in  the  eyes!  Was  it  not  so?  He  wanted 
advice,  he  wanted  to  be  confirmed  in  his  own 
opportunism,  as  a  starving  beggar  may  want 
food. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  this  torture  of  his  vacilla- 
tions, he  was  staggered  and  overwhelmed  by  the 
sudden  noise  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  door  brusquely 
opening,  and  of  an  instant  loud,  firm  knock  on  his 
own  door.  The  silence  of  the  night  was  shattered 
as  by  an  earthquake. 

Almost  mechanically  he  crushed  the  notes  in  his 
left  hand — crushed  them  into  a  ball;  and  the  knuckles 
of  that  hand  turned  white  with  the  muscular  tension. 

1 '  Are  you  up  ?' '  a  voice, demanded.  It  was  Rachel's 
voice. 

98 


A 


s  she  entered  he  let  the  notes  drop  into  the  littered 
grate. 


IN   THE    NIGHT 


"Ye-es,"  he  answered,  and  held  his  left  hand  over 
the  screen  in  front  of  the  fireplace. 

"May  I  come  in?" 

And  with  the  word  she  came  in.  She  was  sum- 
marily dressed,  and  very  pale,  and  her  hair,  more 
notable  than  ever,  was  down.  As  she  entered  he 
opened  his  hand  and  let  the  ball  of  notes  drop  into 
the  littered  grate. 


"Anything  the  matter?"  he  asked,  moving  away 
from  the  region  of  the  hearth-rug. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  kind  of  mild  indulgence, 
as  if  to  say:  "Surely  you  don't  suppose  I  should  be 
wandering  about  in  the  night  like  this  if  nothing 
was  the  matter!" 

She  replied,  speaking  quickly  and  eagerly : 

"I'm  so  glad  you  aren't  in  bed.  I  want  you  to 
go  and  fetch  the  doctor — at  once." 

"Auntie  ill?" 

She  gave  him  another  glance  like  the  first,  as  if 
to  say:  "J'm  not  ill,  and  you  aren't.  And  Mrs. 
Maldon  is  the  only  other  person  in  the  house — " 

"I'll  go  instantly,"  he  added  in  haste.  "Which 
doctor?" 

"Yardley  in  Park  Road.  It's  near  the  corner  of 
Axe  Street.  You'll  know  it  by  the  yellow  gate — even 
if  his  lamp  isn't  lighted." 

"I  thought  old  Hawley  up  at  Hillport  was  auntie's 
doctor." 

1 '  I  believe  he  is,  but  you  couldn't  get  up  to  Hill- 
port  in  less  than  half  an  hour,  could  you?" 

"Not  so  serious  as  all  that,  is  it?" 

"Well,  you  never  know.     Best  to  be  on  the  safe 

99 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

side.  It's  not  quite  like  one  of  her  usual  attacks. 
She's  been  upset.     She  actually  went  down-stairs.' ' 

"I  thought  I  heard  somebody.  Did  you  hear 
her,  then?" 

"No,  she  rang  for  me  afterwards.  There's  a  little 
electric  bell  over  my  bed,  from  her  room." 

"And  I  heard  that  too,"  said  Louis. 

"Will  you  ask  Dr.  Yardley  to  come  at  once?" 

"I'm  off,"  said  he.  "What  a  good  thing  I  wasn't 
in  bed!" 

"What  a  good  thing  you're  here  at  all!"  Rachel 
murmured,  suddenly  smiling. 

He  was  waiting  anxiously  for  her  to  leave  the 
room  again.  But  instead  of  leaving  it  she  came  to 
the  fireplace  and  looked  behind  the  screen.  He 
trembled. 

"Oh!  That  kettle  is  there!  I  thought  it  must 
be!"     And  picked  it  up. 

Then,  with  the  kettle  in  one  hand,  she  went  to  a 
large  cupboard  let  into  the  wall  opposite  the  door,  and 
opened  it. 

"You  know  Park  Road,  I  suppose,"  she  turned 
to  him. 

"Yes,  yes,  I'm  off!" 

He  was  obliged  to  go,  surrendering  the  room  to 
her.  As  he  descended  the  stairs  he  heard  her  come 
out  of  the  room.  She  was  following  him  down- 
stairs. "Don't  bang  the  door,"  she  whispered. 
"I'll  come  and  shut  it  after  you." 

The  next  moment  he  had  undone  the  door  and 
was  down  the  front  steps  and  in  the  solitude  of 
Bycars  Lane.  He  ran  up  the  street,  full  of  the  one 
desire  to  accomplish  his  errand  and  be  back  again 
•in  the  spare  bedroom  alone.     The  notes  were  ut- 

ioo 


IN    THE    NIGHT 


terly  safe  where  they  lay,  and  yet  —  astounding 
events  might  happen.  Was  it  not  a  unique  co- 
incidence that  on  this  very  night  and  no  other  his 
aunt  should  fall  ill,  and  that  as  a  result  Rachel 
should  take  him  unawares  at  the  worst  moment  of 
his  dilemma?  And  further,  could  it  be  the  actual 
fact,  as  he  had  been  wildly  guessing  only  a  few 
minutes  earlier,  that  his  aunt  had  at  last  missed  the 
notes?  Could  it  be  that  it  was  this  discovery  which 
had  upset  her  and  brought  on  an  attack?  ...  An 
attack  of  what? 

He  swerved  at  the  double  into  Park  Road,  which 
was  a  silent  desert  watched  over  by  forlorn  gas- 
lamps.  He  saw  the  yellow  gate.  The  yellow  gate 
clanked  after  him.  He  searched  in  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  porch  for  the  button  of  the  night  bell,  and  had 
to  strike  a  match  in  order  to  find  it.  He  rang; 
waited  and  waited;  rang  again;  waited;  rang  a  third 
time,  keeping  his  finger  hard  on  the  button.  Then 
arose  and  expired  a  flickering  light  in  the  hall  of 
the  house. 

"That  11  do!  That  11  do!  You  needn't  wear  the 
bell  out."  He  could  hear  the  irritated  accents 
through  the  glazed  front  door. 

A  dim  figure  in  a  dressing-gown  opened. 

"Are  you  Dr.  Yardley?"  Louis  gasped  between 
rapid  breaths. 

"What  is  it?"     The  question  was  savage. 

With  his  extraordinary  instinctive  amiability  Louis 
smiled  naturally  and  persuasively. 

"You're  wanted  at  Mrs.  Maldon's,  Bycars. 
Awfully  sorry  to  disturb  you." 

* '  Oh !"  said  the  dressing-gown  in  a  changed,  interest- 
ed tone.    "Mrs.  Maldon's!    Right.     Ill  follow  you." 

IOI 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"You'll  come  at  once?"  Louis  urged. 

"I  shall  come  at  once." 

The  door  was  curtly  closed. 

"So  that's  how  you  call  a  doctor  in  the  middle  of 
the  night!"  thought  Louis,  and  ran  off.  He  had 
scarcely  deciphered  the  man's  face. 

The  return,  being  chiefly  downhill,  was  less  ex- 
hausting. As  he  approached  his  aunt's  house  he  saw 
that  there  was  a  light  on  the  ground  floor  as  well 
as  in  the  front  bedroom.  The  door  opened  as  he 
swung  the  gate.  The  lobby  gas  had  been  lighted. 
Rachel  was  waiting  for  him.  Her  hair  was  tied  up 
now.  The  girl  looked  wise,  absurdly  so.  It  was  as 
though  she  was  engaged  in  the  act  of  being  equal  to 
the  terrible  occasion. 

"He's  coming,"  said  Louis. 

"You've  been  frightfully  quick!"  said  she,  as  if 
triumphantly.     She  appeared  to  glory  in  the  crisis. 

He  passed  within  as  she  held  the  door.  He  was 
frantic  to  rush  up-stairs  to  the  fireplace  in  his  room; 
but  he  had  to  seem  deliberate. 

"And  what  next?"  he  inquired. 

"Well,  nothing.  It  '11  be  best  for  you  to  sit  in 
your  bedroom  for  a  bit.  That's  the  only  place  where 
there's  a  fire — and  it's  rather  chilly  at  this  time  of 
night." 

"A  fire?"  he  repeated,  incredulous  and  yet  awe- 
struck. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind,"  said  she.  "It  just 
happened  there  wasn't  two  drops  of  methylated 
spirits  left  in  the  house,  and  as  there  was  a  fire  laid 
in  your  room,  I  put  a  match  to  it.  I  must  have  hot 
water  ready,  you  see.  And  Mrs.  Maldon  only  has  one 
of  those  old-fashioned  gas-stoves  in  her  bedroom — " 


IN    THE    NIGHT 


"I  see,"  he  agreed. 

They  mounted  the  steps  together.  The  grate  in 
his  room  was  a  mass  of  pleasant  flames  in  the  midst 
of  which  gleamed  the  bright  kettle. 

"How  is  she  now?"  He  asked  in  a  trance.  And 
he  felt  as  though  it  was  another  man  in  his  own 
body  who  was  asking. 

"Oh!  It's  not  very  serious,  I  hope,"  said  Rachel, 
kneeling  to  coax  the  fire  with  a  short  wiry  poker. 
"Only  you  never  know.  I'm  just  going  in  again. 
."  .  .  She  seems  to  lose  all  her  vitality — that's  what's 
apt  to  frighten  you." 

The  girl  looked  wise — absurdly,  deliciously  wise. 
The  spectacle  of  her  engaged  in  the  high  act  of  being 
equal  to  the  occasion  was  exquisite.  But  Louis  had 
no  eye  for  it. 


V 

NEWS    OF   THE    NIGHT 


THE  next  morning,  Mrs.  Tarns,  the  charwoman 
whom  Rachel  had  expressly  included  in  the 
dogma  that  all  charwomen  are  alike,  was  cleaning 
the  entranceway  to  Mrs.  Maldon's  house.  She  had 
washed  and  stoned  the  steep,  uneven  flight  of  steps 
leading  up  to  the  front  door,  and  the  flat  space  be- 
tween them  and  the  gate;  and  now,  before  finishing 
the  step  down  to  the  footpath,  she  was  wiping  the 
grimy  ledges  of  the  green  iron  gate  itself. 

Mrs.  Tarns  was  a  woman  of  nearly  sixty,  stout  and 
— in  appearance — untidy  and  dirty.  The  wet  wind 
played  with  gray  wisps  of  her  hair,  and  with  her 
coarse  brown  apron,  beneath  which  her  skirt  was 
pinned  up.  Human  eye  so  seldom  saw  her  without 
a  coarse  brown  apron  that,  apronless,  she  would  have 
almost  seemed  (like  Eve)  to  be  unattired.  It,  and 
a  pail,  were  the  insignia  of  her  vocation. 

She  was  accomplished  and  conscientious;  she  could 
be  trusted;  despite  appearances,  her  habits  were 
cleanly.  She  was  also  a  woman  of  immense  ex- 
perience. In  addition  to  being  one  of  the  finest 
exponents  of  the  art  of  step-stoning  and  general 
housework  that  the  Five  Towns  could  show,  she  had 

104 


N 


NEWS    OF    THE    NIGHT 

numerous  other  talents.  She  was  thoroughly  accus- 
tomed to  the  supreme  spectacles  of  birth  and  death, 
and  could  assist  thereat  with  dignity  and  skill.  She 
could  turn  away  the  wrath  of  rent-collectors,  rate- 
collectors,  shool-inspectors,  and  magistrates.  She 
was  an  adept  in  enticing  an  inebriated  husband  to 
leave  a  public  house.  She  could  feed  four  children 
for  a  day  on  sevenpence,  and  rise  calmly  to  her  feet 
after  having  been  knocked  down  by  one  stroke  of  a 
fist.  She  could  go  without  food,  sleep,  and  love,  and 
yet  thrive.  She  could  give  when  she  had  nothing, 
and  keep  her  heart  sweet  amid  every  contagion. 
Lastly,  she  could  coax  extra  sixpences  out  of  a  pawn- 
broker. She  had  never  had  a  holiday,  and  almost 
never  failed  in  her  duty.  Her  one  social  fault  was  a 
tendency  to  talk  at  great  length  about  babies, 
corpses,  and  the  qualities  of  rival  soaps.  All  her 
children  Were  married.  Her  husband  had  gone  in  a 
box  to  a  justice  whose  anger  Mrs.  Tams's  simple 
tongue  might  not  soothe.  She  lived  alone.  Six 
half -days  a  week  she  worked  about  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Maldon  from  eight  to  one  o'clock,  for  a  shilling  per 
half -day  and  her  breakfast.  But  if  she  chose  to  stay 
for  it  she  could  have  dinner — and  a  good  one — on 
condition  that  she  washed  up  afterwards.  She  often 
stayed.  After  over  forty  years  of  incessant  and 
manifold  expert  labor  she  was  happy  and  content  in 
this  rich  reward. 

A  long  automobile  came  slipping  with  noiseless 
stealth  down  the  hill,  and  halted  opposite  the  gate, 
in  silence,  for  the  engine  had  been  stopped  higher  up. 
Mrs.  Tarns,  intimidated  by  the  august  phenomenon, 
ceased  to  rub,  and  in  alarm  watched  the  great 
Thomas  Batchgrew  struggle  unsuccessfully  with  the 

105 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

handle  of  the  door  that  imprisoned  him.  Mrs. 
Tarns  was  a  born  serf,  and  her  nature  was  such  that 
she  wanted  to  apologize  to  Thomas  Batchgrew  for  the 
naughtiness  of  the  door.  For  her  there  was  some- 
thing monstrous  in  a  personage  like  Thomas  Batch- 
grew  being  balked  in  a  desire,  even  for  a  moment, 
by  a  perverse  door-catch.  Not  that  she  really 
respected  Thomas  Batchgrew!  She  did  not,  but  he 
was  a  member  of  the  sacred  governing  class.  The 
chauffeur — not  John's  Ernest,  but  a  professional — 
flashed  round  the  front  of  the  car  and  opened  the 
door  with  obsequious  haste.  For  Thomas  Batch- 
grew  had  to  be  appeased.  Already  a  delay  of  twenty 
minutes — due  to  a  defective  tire  and  to  the  inex- 
cusable absence  of  the  spanner '  with  which  the 
spare  wheel  was  manipulated — had  aroused  his  just 
anger. 

Mrs.  Tarns  pulled  the  gate  towards  herself  and, 
crushed  behind  it,  courtesied  to  Thomas  Batchgrew. 
This  courtesy,  the  most  servile  of  all  western  saluta- 
tions, and  now  nearly  unknown  in  the  Five  Towns, 
consisted  in  a  momentary  shortening  of  the  stature 
by  six  inches,  and  in  nothing  else.  Mrs.  Tarns  had 
acquired  it  in  her  native  village  of  Sneyd,  where  an 
earl  held  fast  to  that  which  was  good,  and  she  had 
never  been  able  quite  to  lose  it.  It  did  far  more 
than  the  celerity  of  the  chauffeur  to  appease  Thomas 
Batchgrew. 

Snorting  and  self-conscious,  and  with  his  white 
whiskers  flying  behind  him,  he  stepped  in  his  two 
overcoats  across  the  narrow,  muddy  pavement  and 
on  to  Mrs.  Tams's  virgin  stonework,  and  with  two 
haughty  black  footmarks  he  instantly  ruined  it. 
The  tragedy  produced  no  effect  on  Mrs.  Tarns.    And 

106 


NEWS    OF   THE   NIGHT 

indeed  nobody  in  the  Five  Towns  would  have  been 
moved  by  it.  For  the  social  convention  as  to  porticos 
enjoined  not  that  they  should  remain  clean,  but 
simply  that  they  should  show  evidence  of  having 
been  clean  at  some  moment  early  in  each  day.  It 
mattered  not  how  dirty  they  were  in  general,  pro- 
vided that  the  religious  and  futile  rite  of  stoning  had 
been  demonstrably  performed  during  the  morning. 

Mrs.  Tarns  adroitly  moved  her  bucket  aside, 
though  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  feet  even  larger 
than  those  of  Thomas  Batchgrew,  and  then  waited 
to  be  spoken  to.  She  was  not  spoken  to.  Mr. 
Batchgrew,  after  hesitating  and  clearing  his  throat, 
proceeded  up  the  steps,  defiling  them.  As  he  did  so 
Mrs.  Tarns  screwed  together  all  her  features  and 
clenched  her  hands  as  if  in  agony,  and  stared  horribly 
at  the  open  front  door,  which  was  blowing  to.  It 
seemed  that  she  was  trying  to  arrest  the  front  door 
by  sheer  force  of  muscular  contraction.  She  did  not 
succeed.  Gently  the  door  closed,  with  a  firm  click 
of  its  latch,  in  face  of  Mr.  Batchgrew. 

"Nay,  nay!"  muttered  Mrs.  Tarns,  desolated. 

And  Mr.  Batchgrew,  once  more  justly  angered, 
raised  his  hand  to  the  heavy  knocker. 

"Dunna'  knock,  mester!  Dunna'  knock!"  Mrs. 
Tarns  implored  in  a  whisper.  "Missis  is  asleep. 
Miss  Rachel's  been  up  aw  night  wi'  her,  seemingly, 
and  now  her's  gone  off  in  a  doze  like,  and  Miss 
Rachel's  resting,  too,  on  th'  squab  i'  th'  parlor. 
Doctor  was  fetched." 

Apparently  charging  Mrs.  Tarns  with  responsi- 
bility for  the  illness,  Mr.  Batchgrew  demanded 
severely: 

"What  was  it?" 

107 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"One  <y  them  attacks  as  her  has,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns 
with  a  meekness  that  admitted  she  could  offer  no 
defense,  "only  wuss!" 

"Hurry  round  to  th'  back  door  and  let  me  in.,, 

MI  doubt  back  door's  bolted  on  th'  inside,"  said 
Mrs.  Tarns  with  deep  humility. 

"This  is  ridiculous,"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew,  truly. 
"Am  I  to  stand  here  all  day?"  And  raised  his  hand 
to  the  knocker. 

Mrs.  Tarns  with  swiftness  darted  up  the  steps  and 
inserted  a  large,  fat,  wet  hand  between  the  raised 
knocker  and  its  bed.  It  was  the  sublime  gesture  of 
a  martyr,  and  her  large  brown  eyes  gazed  submis- 
sively, yet  firmly,  at  Mr.  Batchgrew  with  the  look 
of  a  martyr.  She  had  nothing  to  gain  by  the  de- 
fiance of  a  great  man,  but  she  could  not  permit  her 
honored  employer  to  be  wakened.  She  was  accus- 
tomed to  emergencies,  and  to  desperate  deeds  there- 
in, and  she  did  not  fail  now  in  promptly  taking  the 
right  course,  regardless  of  consequences.  Somewhat 
younger  than  Mr.  Batchgrew  in  years,  she  was  older 
in  experience  and  in  wisdom.  She  could  do  a  thou- 
sand things  well;  Mr.  Batchgrew  could  do  nothing 
well.  At  that  very  moment  she  conquered,  and  he 
was  beaten.  Yet  her  brown  eyes  and  even  the 
sturdy  uplifted  arm  cringed  to  him,  and  asked  in 
abasement  to  be  forgiven  for  the  impiety  committed. 
From  her  other  hand  a  cloth  dripped  foul  water  on- 
to the  topmost  step. 

And  then  the  door  yielded.  Thomas  Batchgrew 
and  Mrs.  Tarns  both  abandoned  the  knocker. 
Rachel,  pale  as  a  lily,  stern,  with  dilated  eyes,  stood 
before  them.  And  Mr.  Batchgrew  realized,  as  he 
looked  at  her  against  the  dark  hushed  background 

108 


NEWS    OF   THE    NIGHT 

of  the  stairs,  that  Mrs.  Maldon  was  indeed  ill.  Mrs. 
Tarns  respectfully  retired  down  the  steps.  A 
mightier  than  she,  the  young,  naive,  ignorant  girl, 
to  whom  she  could  have  taught  everything  save  pos- 
sibly the  art  of  washing  cutlery,  had  relieved  her  of 
responsibility. 

"You  can't  see  her,"  said  Rachel  in  a  low  tone, 
trembling. 

1 '  But — but — ' '  Thomas  Batchgrew  spluttered, 
ineffectively.  "D'you  know  I'm  her  trustee,  miss? 
Let  me  come  in." 

Rachel  would  not  take  her  hand  off  the  inner 
knob. 

There  was  the  thin,  far-off  sound  of  an  electric 
bell,  breaking  the  silence  of  the  house.  It  was  the 
bell  in  Rachel's  bedroom,  rung  from  Mrs.  Maldon's 
bedroom.  And  at  this  mysterious  signal  from  the 
invalid,  this  faint  proof  that  the  hidden  sufferer  had 
consciousness  and  volition,  Rachel  started  and 
Thomas  Batchgrew  started. 

"Her  bell!"  Rachel  exclaimed,  and  fled  up-stairs. 

In  the  large  bedroom  Mrs.  Maldon  lay  apparently 
at  ease. 

"Did  they  waken  you?"  cried  Rachel,  distressed. 

"Who  is  there,  dear?"  Mrs.  Maldon  asked,  in  a 
voice  that  had  almost  recovered  from  the  weakness 
of  the  night.     Rachel  was  astounded. 

"Mr.  Batchgrew." 

"I  must  see  him,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"But—" 

"I  must  see  him  at  once,"  Mrs.  Maldon  repeated. 
"At  once.  Kindly  bring  him  up."  And  she  added, 
in  a  curiously  even  and  resigned  tone,  "I've  lost  all 
that  money!" 

109 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

■4*  n 

"Nay;"  said  Mrs.  Maldon  to  Thomas  Batchgrew, 
"I'm  not  going  to  die  just  yet." 

Her  voice  was  cheerful,  even  a  little  brisk,  and  she 
spoke  with  a  benign  smile  in  the  tranquil  accents  of 
absolute  conviction.  But  she  did  not  move  her 
head;  she  waited  to  look  at  Thomas  Batchgrew  until 
he  came  within  her  field  of  vision  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  This  quiescence  had  a  disconcerting  effect, 
contradicting  her  voice. 

She  was  lying  on  her  back,  in  the  posture  cus- 
tomary to  her,  the  arms  being  stretched  down  by 
the  sides  under  the  bedquilt.  Her  features  were 
drawn  slightly  askew;  the  skin  was  shiny;  the  eyes 
stared  as  though  Mrs.  Maldon  had  been  a  hysterical 
subject.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  passed  through 
a  tremendous  physical  crisis.  Nevertheless,  Rachel 
was  still  astounded  at  the  change  for  the  better  in 
her,  wrought  by  sleep  and  the  force  of  her  obstinate 
vitality. 

The  contrast  between  the  scene  which  Thomas 
Batchgrew  now  saw  and  the  scene  which  had  met 
Rachel  in  the  night  was  so  violent  as  to  seem  nearly 
incredible.  Not  a  sign  of  the  catastrophe  remained, 
except  in  Mrs.  Maldon's  face,  and  in  some  invalid 
gear  on  the  dressing-table,  for  Rachel  had  gradually 
got  the  room  into  order.  She  had  even  closed  and 
locked  the  wardrobe. 

On  answering  Mrs.  Maldon's  summons  in  the 
night,  Rachel  had  found  the  central  door  of  the 
wardrobe  swinging  and  the  sacred  big  drawer  at  the 
bottom  of  that  division  only  half  shut,  and  Mrs. 
Maldon  in  a  peignoir  lying  near  it  on  the  floor, 

no 


NEWS    OF    THE    NIGHT 

making  queer  inhuman  noises,  not  moans,  but  a  kind 
of  anxious  inarticulate  entreaty,  and  shakftig  her 
head  constantly  to  the  left — never  to  the  right.  Mrs. 
Maldon  had  recognized  Rachel,  and  had  seemed  to 
implore  with  agonized  intensity  her  powerful  assist- 
ance in  some  nameless  and  hopeless  tragic  dilemma. 
The  sight — especially  of  the  destruction  of  the  old 
woman's  dignity — was  dreadful  to  such  an  extent 
that  Rachel  did  not  realize  its  effect  on  herself  until 
several  hours  afterwards.  At  the  moment  she  called 
on  the  immense  reserves  of  her  self-confidence  to 
meet  the  situation — and  she  met  it,  assisting  her 
pride  with  the  curious  pretense,  characteristic  of  the 
Five  Towns'  race,  that  the  emergency  was  insufficient 
to  alarm  in  the  slightest  degree  a  person  of  sagacity] 
and  sang-froid.  '   ^J0^* 

She  had  restored  Mrs.  Maldon  to  her  bed  and  to 
some  of  her  dignity.  But  the  horrid  symptoms  were 
not  thereby  abated.  The  inhuman  noises  and  the 
distressing,  incomprehensible  appeal  had  continued. 
Immediately  Rachel's  back  was  turned  Mrs.  Maldon 
had  fallen  out  of  bed.  This  happened  three  times, 
so  that  clearly  the  sufferer  was  falling  out  of  bed 
under  the  urgency  of  some  half-conscious  purpose. 
Rachel  had  soothed  her.  And  once  she  had  managed 
to  say  with  some  clearness  the  words,  "I've  been 
down-stairs."  But  when  Rachel  went  back  to  the 
room  from  despatching  Louis  for  the  doctor,  she 
was  again  on  the  floor.  Louis'  absence  from  the 
house  had  lasted  an  intolerable  age,  but  the  doctor 
had  followed  closely  on  the  messenger,  and  already 
the  symptoms  had  become  a  little  less  acute.  The 
doctor  had  diagnosed  with  rapidity.  Supervening 
upon  her  ordinary  cardiac  attack  after  supper,  Mrs. 

in 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Maldon  had  had,  in  the  night,  an  embolus  in  one 
artery  of  the  brain.  The  way  in  which  the  doctor 
announced  the  fact  showed  to  Rachel  that  nothing 
could  easily  have  been  more  serious.  And  yet  the 
mere  naming  of  the  affliction  eased  her,  although  she 
had  no  conception  of  what  an  embolus  might  be. 
Dr.  Yardley  had  remained  until  four  o'clock,  when 
Mrs.  Maldon,  surprisingly  convalescent,  dropped  off 
to  sleep.     He  remarked  that  she  might  recover. 

At  eight  o'clock  he  had  come  back.  Mrs.  Maldon 
was  awake,  but  had  apparently  no  proper  recollection 
of  the  events  of  the  night,  which  even  to  Rachel  had 
begun  to  seem  unreal,  like  a  waning  hallucination. 
The  doctor  gave  orders,  with  optimism,  and  left, 
sufficiently  reassured  to  allow  himself  to  yawn.  At 
a  quarter  past  eight  Louis  had  departed  to  his  own 
affairs,  on  Rachel's  direct  suggestion.  And  when 
Mrs.  Tarns  had  been  informed  of  the  case  so  full  of 
disturbing  enigmas,  while  Rachel  and  she  drank  tea 
together  in  the  kitchen,  the  daily  domestic  movement 
of  the  house  was  partly  resumed,  from  vanity,  be- 
cause Rachel  could  not  bear  to  sit  idle  nor  to  admit 
to  herself  that  she  had  been  scared  to  a  standstill. 

And  now  Mrs.  Maldon,  in  full  possession  of  her 
faculties,  faced  Thomas  Batchgrew  for  the  interview 
which  she  had  insisted  on  having.  And  Rachel 
waited  with  an  uncanny  apprehension,  her  ears  full 
of  the  mysterious  and  frightful  phrase,  "I've  lost  all 
that  money." 

in 

Mrs.   Maldon,  after  a  few  words  had  passed  as 
to  her  illness,  used  exactly  the  same  phrase  again: 
"I've  lost  all  that  money!" 

112 


NEWS    OF    THE    NIGHT 


Mr.  Batchgrew  snorted,  and  glanced  at  Rachel  for 
an  explanation. 

"  Yes.  It's  all  gone,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Maldon  with 
calm  resignation.  "But  I'm  too  old  to  worry. 
Please  listen  to  me.  We  lost  my  serviette  and  ring 
last  evening  at  supper.  Couldn't  find  it  anywhere. 
And  in  the  night  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me  where 
it  was.  I've  remembered  everything  now,  almost, 
and  I'm  quite  sure.  You  know  you  first  told  me  to 
put  the  money  in  my  wardrobe.  Now  before  you 
said  that,  I  had  thought  of  putting  it  on  the  top  of 
the  cupboard  to  the  right  of  the  fireplace  in  the  back 
room  down-stairs.  I  thought  that  would  be  a  good 
place  for  it  in  case  burglars  did  come.  No  burglar 
would  ever  think  of  looking  there." 

"God  bless  me!"  Mr.  Batchgrew  muttered,  scorn- 
fully protesting. 

"It  couldn't  possibly  be  seen,  you  see.  However, 
I  thought  I  ought  to  respect  your  wish,  and  so  I 
decided  I'd  put  part  of  it  on  the  top  of  the  cupboard, 
and  part  of  it  underneath  a  lot  of  linen  at  the  bottom 
of  the  drawer  in  my  wardrobe.  That  would  satisfy 
both  of  us." 

"Would  it!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Batchgrew,  without 
any  restraint  upon  his  heavy,  rolling  voice. 

"Well,  I  must  have  picked  up  the  serviette  and 
ring  with  the  bank-notes,  you  see.  I  fear  I'm  absent- 
minded  like  that  sometimes.  I  know  I  went  out  of 
the  sitting-room  with  both  hands  full.  I  know  both 
hands  were  occupied,  because  I  remember  when  I 
went  into  the  back  room  I  didn't  turn  the  gas  up, 
and  I  pushed  a  chair  up  to  the  cupboard  with  my 
knee,  for  me  to  stand  on.  I'm  certain  I  put  some 
of  the  notes  on  the  top  of  the  cupboard.  Then  I 
8  113 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

came  up-stairs.  The  window  on  the  landing  was 
rattling,  and  I  put  the  other  part  of  the  money  on 
the  chair  while  I  tried  to  fasten  the  window.  How- 
ever, I  couldn't  fasten  it.  So  I  left  it.  And  then 
I  thought  I  picked  up  the  money  again  off  the  chair 
and  came  in  here  and  hid  it  at  the  bottom  of  the 
drawer  and  locked  the  wardrobe.' ' 

"Ye  thought!"  said  Thomas  Batchgrew,  gazing  at 
the  aged  weakling  as  at  an  insane  criminal.  "Was 
this  just  after  I  left?" 

Mrs.  Maldon  nodded,  apologetically. 

"When  I  woke  up  the  first  time  in  the  night,  it 
struck  me  like  a  flash :  Had  I  taken  the  serviette  and 
ring  up  with  the  notes?  I  am  liable  to  do  that  sort 
of  thing.  I'm  an  old  woman — it's  no  use  denying 
it."  She  looked  plaintively  at  Rachel,  and  her  voice 
trembled.  "I  got  up.  I  was  bound  to  get  up,  and 
I  turned  the  gas  on,  and  there  the  serviette  and  ring 
were  at  the  bottom  of  the  drawer,  but  no  money! 
I  took  everything  out  of  the  drawer,  piece  by  piece, 
and  put  it  back  again.  I  simply  cannot  tell  you  how 
I  felt!  I  went  out  to  the  landing  with  a  match. 
There  was  no  money  there.  And  then  I  went  down- 
stairs in  the  dark.  I  never  knew  it  to  be  so  dark, 
in  spite  of  the  street-lamp.  I  knocked  against  the 
clock.  I  nearly  knocked  it  over.  I  managed  to 
light  the  gas  in  the  back  room.  I  made  sure  that 
I  must  have  left  all  the  notes  on  the  top  of  the  cup- 
board instead  of  only  part  of  them.  But  there  was 
nothing  there  at  all.  Nothing!  Then  I  looked  all 
over  the  sitting-room  floor  with  a  candle.  When 
I  got  up-stairs  again  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing. 
I  knew  I  was  going  to  be  ill,  and  I  just  managed  to 
ring  the  bell  for  dear  Rachel,  and  the  next  thing  I 

114 


NEWS    OF    THE    NIGHT 


remember  was,  I  was  in  bed  here,  and  Rachel  putting 
something  hot  to  my  feet — the  dear  child!" 

Her  eyes  glistened  with  tears.  And  Rachel  too, 
as  she  pictured  the  enfeebled  and  despairing  incarna- 
tion of  dignity  colliding  with  grandfather's  clock  in 
the  night  and  climbing  on  chairs  and  groping  over 
carpets,  had  difficulty  not  to  cry,  and  a  lump  rose  in 
her  throat.  She  was  so  moved  by  compassion  that 
she  did  not  at  first  feel  the  full  shock  of  the  awful 
disappearance  of  the  money. 

Mr.  Batchgrew,  for  the  second  time  that  morning 
unequal  to  a  situation,  turned  foolishly  to  the  ward- 
robe, clearing  his  throat  and  snorting. 

"It's  on  one  of  the  sliding  trays,"  said  Mrs. 
Maldon. 

"What's  on  one  of  the  sliding  trays?" 

"The  serviette." 

Rachel,  who  was  nearest,  opened  the  wardrobe  and 
immediately  discovered  the  missing  serviette  and 
ring,  which  had  the  appearance  of  a  direct  dramatic 
proof  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  story. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  exclaimed,  indignant: 

"I  never  heard  such  a  rigmarole  in  all  my  born 
days."  And  then,  angrily  to  Rachel,  "Go  down  and 
look  on  th'  top  o'  th'  cupboard,  thee!" 

Rachel  hesitated. 

"I'm  quite  resigned,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  placidly. 
"It's  a  punishment  on  me  for  hardening  my  heart 
to  Julian  last  night.    It's  a  punishment  for  my  pride. ' ' 

"Now,  then!"  Mr.  Batchgrew  glared  bullyingly 
at  Rachel,  who  vanished. 

In  a  few  moments  she  returned. 

"There's  nothing  at  all  on  the  top  of  the  cup- 
board." 

US 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"But  th'  money  must  be  somewhere,"  said  Mr. 
Batchgrew,  savagely.  "Nine  hundred  and  sixty-five 
pun.  And  IVe  arranged  to  lend  out  that  money 
again,  at  once !  What  am  I  to  say  to  th'  mortgagor? 
Am  I  to  tell  him  as  IVe  lost  it?  .  .  .  No!    I  never!" 

Mrs.  Maldon  murmured: 

' '  Nay,  nay !  It's  no  use  looking  at  me.  I  thought 
I  should  never  get  over  it  in  the  night.  But  I'm 
quite  resigned  now." 

Rachel,  standing  near  the  door,  could  observerboth 
Mrs.  Maldon  and  Thomas  Batchgrew,  and  was 
regarded  by  neither  of  them.  And  while,  in  the 
convulsive  commotion  of  her  feelings,  her  sympathy 
for  and  admiration  of  Mrs.  Maldon  became  poignant, 
she  was  thrilled  by  the  most  intense  scorn  and  disgust 
for  Thomas  Batchgrew.  The  chief  reason  of  her 
abhorrence  was  the  old  man's  insensibility  to  the 
angelic  submission,  the  touching  fragility,  the 
heavenly  meekness  and  tranquillity,  of  Mrs.  Maldon 
as  she  lay  there  helpless,  victimized  by  a  paralytic 
affliction.  (Rachel  wanted  to  forget  utterly  the 
souvenir  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  paroxysm  in  the  night, 
because  it  slurred  the  unmatched  dignity  of  the  aged 
creature.)  Another  reason  was  the  mere  fact  that 
Mr.  Batchgrew  had  insisted  on  leaving  the  money 
in  the  house.  Who  but  Mr.  Batchgrew  would  have 
had  the  notion  of  saddling  poor  old  Mrs.  Maldon 
with  the  custody  of  a  vast  sum  of  money?  It  was 
a  shame;  it  was  positively  cruel!  Rachel  was  in- 
dignantly convinced  that  he  alone  ought  to  be  made 
responsible  for  the  money.  And  lastly,  she  loathed 
and  condemned  him  for  the  reason  that  he  was  so 
obviously  unequal  to  the  situation.  He  could  not 
handle  it.     He  was  found  out.     He  was  disproved, 

116 


NEWS    OF   THE    NIGHT 


He  did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  could  only  mouth, 
strut,  bully,  and  make  rude  noises.  He  could  not 
even  keep  decently  around  him  the  cloak  of  his  self- 
importance.  He  stood  revealed  to  Mrs.  Maldon  and 
Rachel  as  he  had  sometimes  stood  revealed  to  his 
dead  wife  and  to  his  elder  children  and  to  some  of 
his  confidential  faithful  employees.  He  was  an 
offense  in  the  delicacy  of  the  bedroom.  If  the 
rancor  of  Rachel's  judgment  had  been  fierce  enough 
to  strike  him  to  the  floor,  assuredly  his  years  would 
not  have  saved  him!  And  yet  Mrs.  Maldon  gazed 
at  him  with  submissive  and  apologetic  gentleness! 
Foolish  saint!  Fancy  her  (thought  Rachel)  harden- 
ing her  heart  to  Julian !  Rachel  longed  to  stiffen  her 
with  some  backing  of  her  own  harsh  common  sense. 
And  her  affection  for  Mrs.  Maldon  grew  passionate 
and  half  maternal. 

IV 

Thomas  Batchgrew  was  saying: 

"It  beats  me  how  anybody  in  their  senses  could 
pick  up  a  serviette  and  put  it  away  for  a  pile  o' 
bank-notes."  He  scowled.  "However,  111  go  and 
see  Snow.  I'll  see  what  Snow  says.  I'll  get  him  to 
come  up  with  one  of  his  best  men  —  Dickson, 
perhaps." 

"Thomas  Batchgrew,"  cried  Mrs.  Maldon  with 
sudden  disturbing  febrile  excitement.  "You'll  do  no 
such  thing.  I'll  have  no  police  prying  into  this 
affair.     If  you  do  that  I  shall  just  die  right  off." 

And  her  manner  grew  so  imperious  that  Mr. 
Batchgrew  was  intimidated. 

"But— but— " 

117 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"I'd  sooner  lose  all  the  money !"  said  Mrs.  Maldon, 
almost  wildly. 

She  blushed.  And  Rachel  also  felt  herself  to  be 
blushing,  and  was  not  sure  whether  she  knew  why 
she  was  blushing.  An  atmosphere  of  constraint  and 
shame  seemed  to  permeate  the  room. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  growled: 

"The  money  must  be  in  the  house.  The  truth  is, 
Elizabeth,  ye  don't  know  no  more  than  that  bedpost 
where  ye  put  it." 

And  Rachel  agreed  eagerly: 

"Of  course  it  must  be  in  the  house!  I  shall  set 
to  and  turn  everything  out.     Everything !" 

"Ye'd  better!"  said  Thomas  Batchgrew. 

"That  will  be  the  best  thing,  dear — perhaps,"  said 
Mrs.  Maldon,  indifferent,  and  now  plainly  fatigued. 

Everyone  seemed  determined  to  be  convinced  that 
the  money  was  in  the  house,  and  to  employ  this 
conviction  as  a  defense  against  horrible  dim  sus- 
picions that  had  inexplicably  emerged  from  the 
corners  of  the  room  and  were  creeping  about  like 
menaces. 

"Where  else  should  it  be?"  muttered  Batchgrew, 
sarcastically,  after  a  pause,  as  if  to  say:  "Anybody 
who  fancies  the  money  isn't  in  the  house  is  an  utter 
fool." 

Mrs.  Maldon  had  closed  her  eyes. 

There  was  a  faint  knock  at  the  door.  Rachel 
turned  instinctively  to  prevent  a  possible  intruder 
from  entering  and  catching  sight  of  those  dim  sus- 
picions before  they  could  be  driven  back  into  their 
dark  corners.  Then  she  remembered  that  she  had 
asked  Mrs.  Tarns  to  bring  up  some  Revalenta 
Arabica  food  for  Mrs.  Maldon  as  soon  as  it  should 

118 


NEWS    OF    THE    NIGHT 


be  ready.  And  she  sedately  opened  the  door. 
Mrs.  Tarns,  with  her  usual  serf -like  diffidence,  re- 
mained invisible,  except  for  the  hand  holding  forth 
the  cup.  But  her  soft  voice,  charged  with  sensational 
news,  was  heard : 

"Mrs.  Grocott's  boy  next  door  but  one  has  just 
been  round  to  th'  back  to  tell  me  as  there  was  a 
burglary  down  the  Lane  last  night.' ' 

As  Rachel  carried  the  food  across  to  the  bed,  she 
could  not  help  saying,  though  with  feigned  deference, 
to  Mr.  Batchgrew: 

"You  told  us  last  night  that  there  wouldn't  be 
any  more  burglaries,  Mr.  Batchgrew." 

The  burning  tightness  round  the  top  of  her  head, 
due  to  fatigue  and  lack  of  sleep,  seemed  somehow  to 
brace  her  audacity,  and  to  make  her  careless  of 
consequences. 

The  trustee  and  celebrity,  though  momentarily 
confounded,  was  recovering  himself  now.  He  de- 
termined to  crush  the  pert  creature  whose  glance  had 
several  times  incommoded  him.     He  said  severely: 

"What's  a  burglary  down  the  Lane  got  to  do 
with  uz  and  this  here  money?" 

"Us  and  the  money!"  Rachel  repeated  evenly. 
"Nothing,  only  when  I  came  down-stairs  in  the 
night  the  greenhouse  door  was  open."  (The  scullery 
was  still  often  called  the  greenhouse.)  "And  I'd 
locked  it  myself!" 

A  troubling  silence  followed,  broken  by  Mr. 
Batchgrew's  uneasy  grunts  as  he  turned  away  to  the 
window,  and  by  the  clink  of  the  spoon  as  Rachel 
helped  Mrs.  Maldon  to  take  the  food. 

At  length  Mr.  Batchgrew  asked,  staring  through 
the  window: 

119 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Did  ye  notice  the  dust  on  top  o'  that  cupboard? 
Was  it  disturbed  ?" 

Hesitating  an  instant,  Rachel  answered  firmly, 
without  turning  her  head : 

"I  did.  ...  It  was.  ...  Of  course." 

Mrs.  Maldon  made  no  sign  of  interest. 

Mr.  Batchgrew's  boots  creaked  to  and  fro  in  the 
room. 

"And  what's  Julian  got  to  say  for  himself?"  he 
asked,  not  addressing  either  woman  in  particular. 

"Julian  wasn't  here.  He  didn't  stay  the  night. 
Louis  stayed  instead,"  answered  Mrs.  Maldon, 
faintly,  without  opening  her  eyes. 

"What?    What?    What's  this?" 

"Tell  him,  dear,  how  it  was,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon, 
still  more  faintly. 

Rachel  obeyed,  in  agitated,  uneven  tones. 


VI 

THEORIES   OF   THE    THEFT 


*HE  inspiring  and  agreeable  image  of  Rachel 
floated  above  vast  contending  forces  of  ideas 
in  the  mind  of  Louis  Fores  as  he  bent  over  his  petty- 
cash  book  amid  the  dust  of  the  vile  inner  office  at 
Horrocleave's;  and  their  altercation  was  sharpened 
by  the  fact  that  Louis  had  not  had  enough  sleep. 
He  had  had  a  great  deal  more  sleep  than  Rachel, 
but  he  had  not  had  what  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
calling  his  " whack"  of  it;  although  never  in  a  hurry 
to  go  to  bed,  he  appreciated  as  well  as  any  doctor 
the  importance  of  sleep  in  the  economy  of  the  human 
frame,  and  his  weekly  average  of  repose  was  high; 
he  was  an  expert  sleeper. 

He  thirsted  after  righteousness,  and  the  petty- 
cash  book  was  permeated  through  and  through  with 
unrighteousness;  and  it  was  his  handiwork.  Of 
course,  under  the  unconscious  influence  of  Rachel 
seen  in  her  kitchen  and  seen  also  in  various  other 
striking  aspects  during  the  exciting  night,  he  might 
have  bravely  exposed  the  iniquity  of  the  petty-cash 
book  to  Jim  Horrocleave,  and  cleared  his  conscience, 
and  then  gone  and  confessed  to  Rachel,  and  thus 
prepared  the  way  for  the  inner  peace  and  a  new 

121 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

life.  He  would  have  suffered — there  was  indeed  a 
possibility  of  very  severe  suffering — but  he  would 
have  been  a  free  man — yes,  free  even  if  in  prison,  and 
he  would  have  followed  the  fine  tradition  of  recti- 
tude, extorting  the  respect  and  admiration  of  all  true 
souls,  etc.  He  had  read  authentic  records  of  similar 
deeds.  What  stopped  him  from  carrying  out  the 
programme  of  honesty  was  his  powerful  worldly 
common  sense.  Despite  what  he  had  read,  and 
despite  the  inspiring  image  of  Rachel,  his  common 
sense  soon  convinced  him  that  confession  would  be 
an  error  of  judgment  and  quite  unremunerative  for, 
at  any  rate,  very  many  years.  Hence  he  abandoned 
regretfully  the  notion  of  confession,  as  a  beautifully 
impossible  dream.  But  righteousness  was  not  there- 
by entirely  denied  to  him;  his  thirst  for  it  could  still 
be  assuaged  by  the  device  of  an  oath  to  repay 
secretly  to  Horrocleave  every  penny  that  he  had 
stolen  from  Horrocleave,  which  oath  he  took — and 
felt  better  and  worthier  of  Rachel. 

He  might,  perhaps,  have  inclined  more  effectually 
towards  confession  had  not  the  petty-cash  book  ap- 
peared to  him  in  the  morning  light  as  an  admirably 
convincing  piece  of  work.  It  had  the  most  innocent 
air,  and  was  markedly  superior  to  his  recollection 
of  it.  On  many  pages  he  himself  could  scarcely  de- 
tect his  own  traces.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  could 
rely  pretty  strongly  on  the  cleverness  of  the  petty- 
cash  book.  Only  four  blank  pages  remained  in  it. 
A  few  days  more  and  it  would  be  filled  up,  finished, 
labeled  with  a  gummed  white  label  showing  its 
number  and  the  dates  of  its  first  and  last  entries, 
shelved  and  forgotten.  A  pity  that  Horrocleave's 
suspicions  had  not  been  delayed  for  another  month 

122 


THEORIES    OF   THE    THEFT 

or  so,  for  then  the  book  might  have  been  mislaid, 
lost,  or  even  consumed  in  a  conflagration!  But 
never  mind!  A  certain  amount  of  ill  luck  fell  to 
every  man,  and  he  would  trust  to  his  excellent  handi- 
craft in  the  petty-cash  book.  It  was  his  only  hope 
in  the  world,  now  that  the  mysterious  and  heavenly 
bank-notes  were  gone. 

His  attitude  towards  the  bank-notes  was,  quite 
naturally,  illogical  and  self -contradictory.  While  the 
bank-notes  were  in  his  pocket  he  had  in  the  end  seen 
three  things  with  clearness.  First,  the  wickedness 
of  appropriating  them.  Second,  the  danger  of  ap- 
propriating them — having  regard  to  the  prevalent 
habit  of  keeping  the  numbers  of  bank-notes.  Third, 
the  wild  madness  of  attempting  to  utilize  them  in 
order  to  replace  the  stolen  petty  cash,  for  by  no 
ingenuity  could  the  presence  of  a  hoard  of  over 
seventy  pounds  in  the  petty-cash  box  have  been 
explained.  He  had  perfectly  grasped  all  that;  and 
yet,  the  notes  having  vanished,  he  felt  forlorn,  alone, 
as  one  who  has  lost  his  best  friend — a  prop  and  firm 
succor  in  a  universe  of  quicksands. 

In  the  matter  of  the  burning  of  the  notes  his 
conscience  did  not  accuse  him.  On  the  contrary,  he 
emerged  blameless  from  the  episode.  It  was  not  he 
who  first  had  so  carelessly  left  the  notes  lying  about. 
He  had  not  searched  for  them,  he  had  not  purloined 
them.  They  had  been  positively  thrust  upon  him. 
His  intention  in  assuming  charge  of  them  for  a  brief 
space  was  to  teach  some  negligent  person  a  lesson. 
During  the  evening  fate  had  given  him  no  oppor- 
tunity to  produce  them.  And  when  in  the  night, 
with  honesty  unimpeachable,  he  had  decided  to 
restore  them  to  the  landing,  fate  had  intervened  once 

123 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

more.  At  each  step  of  the  affair  he  had  acted  for 
the  best  in  difficult  circumstances.  Persons  so  ill- 
advised  as  to  drop  bank-notes  under  chairs  must 
accept  all  the  consequences  of  their  act.  Who  could 
have  foreseen  that  while  he  was  engaged  on  the 
philanthropic  errand  of  fetching  a  doctor  for  an  aged 
lady  Rachel  would  light  a  fire  under  the  notes? 
.  .  .  No,  not  merely  was  he  without  sin  in  the 
matter  of  the  bank-notes,  he  was  rather  an  ill-used 
person,  a  martyr  deserving  of  sympathy.  And 
further,  he  did  not  regret  the  notes;  he  was  glad 
they  were  gone.  They  could  no  longer  tempt  him 
now,  and  their  disappearance  would  remain  a  mys- 
tery for  ever.  So  far  as  they  were  concerned,  he 
could  look  his  aunt  or  anybody  else  in  the  face  with- 
out a  tremor.  The  mere  destruction  of  the  immense 
undetermined  sum  of  money  did  not  seriously  ruffle 
him.  As  an  ex-bank  clerk  he  was  aware  that  though 
an  individual  would  lose,  the  state,  through  the 
Bank  of  England,  would  correspondingly  gain,  and 
thus  for  the  nonce  he  had  the  large  sensations  of  a 
patriot. 

ii 

Axon,  the  factotum  of  the  counting-house,  came 
in  from  the  outer  office,  with  a  mien  composed  of 
mirth  and  apprehension  in  about  equal  parts.  If 
Axon  happened  to  be  the  subject  of  a  conversation 
and  there  was  any  uncertainty  as  to  which  Axon  out 
of  a  thousand  Axons  he  might  be,  the  introducer  of 
the  subject  would  always  say:  "You  know — sandy- 
haired  fellow.' '  This  described  him — hair,  beard, 
mustache.  Sandy-haired  men  have  no  age  until  they 
are  fifty-five,  and  Axon  was  not  fifty -five.     He  was  a 

124 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

pigeon-flyer  by  choice,  and  a  clerk  in  order  that  he 
might  be  a  pigeon-flyer.  His  fault  was  that,  with 
no  moral  right  whatever  to  do  so,  he  would  treat 
Louis  Fores  as  a  business  equal  in  the  office  and  as 
a  social  equal  in  the  street. 

He  sprang  upon  Louis  now  as  one  grinning  valet 
might  spring  upon  another,  enormous  with  news,  and 
whispered : 

"I  say,  guv'nor's  put  his  foot  through  them  steps 
from  painting-shop  and  sprained  his  ankle.  Look 
out  for  ructions,  eh?  Thank  the  Lord  it's  a  half- 
day!" 

And  then  whipped  back  to  his  own  room. 

On  any  ordinary  Saturday  morning  Louis  by  a 
fine  frigidity  would  have  tried  to  show  to  the  obtuse 
Axon  that  he  resented  such  demeanor  towards  him- 
self on  the  part  of  an  Axon,  assuming  as  it  did  that 
the  art-director  of  the  works  was  one  of  the  servile 
crew  that  scuttled  about  in  terror  if  the  ferocious 
Horrocleave  happened  to  sneeze.  But  to-day  the 
mere  sudden  information  that  Horrocleave  was  on 
the  works  gave  him  an  unpleasant  start  and  seriously 
impaired  his  presence  of  mind.  He  had  not  been 
aware  of  Horrocleave's  arrival.  He  had  been  ex- 
pecting to  hear  Horrocleave's  step  and  voice,  and 
the  rustle  of  him  hanging  up  his  mackintosh  outside 
(Horrocleave  always  wore  a  mackintosh  instead  of 
an  overcoat),  and  all  the  general  introductory  sounds 
of  his  advent,  before  he  finally  came  into  the  inner 
room.  But,  now,  for  aught  Louis  knew,  Horro- 
cleave might  already  have  been  in  the  inner  room, 
before  Louis.  He  was  upset.  The  enemy  was  not 
attacking  him  in  the  proper  and  usual  way. 

And  the  next  instant,  ere  he  could  collect  and 

125 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

reorganize  his  forces,  he  was  paralyzed  by  the  foot- 
fall of  Horrocleave,  limping,  and  the  bang  of  a  door. 

And  Louis  thought: 

"He's  in  the  outer  office.  He's  only  got  to  take 
his  mackintosh  off  and  then  I  shall  see  his  head 
coming  through  this  door,  and  perhaps  he'll  ask  me 
for  the  petty-cash  book  right  off." 

But  Horrocleave  did  not  even  pause  to  remove  his 
mackintosh.  In  defiance  of  immemorial  habit,  being 
himself  considerably  excited  and  confused,  he  stalked 
straight  in,  half  hopping,  and  sat  down  in  his  frowsy 
chair  at  his  frowsy  desk,  with  his  cap  at  the  back  of 
his  head.  He  was  a  spare  man,  of  medium  height, 
with  a  thin,  shrewd  face  and  a  constant  look  of 
hard,  fierce  determination. 

And  there  was  Louis  staring  like  a  fool  at  the  open 
page  of  the  petty-cash  book,  incriminating  himself 
every  instant. 

" Hello!"  said  Louis,  without  looking  round. 
"What's  up?" 

"What's  up?"  Horrocleave  scowled.  "What 
d'ye  mean?" 

"I  thought  you  were  limping  just  the  least  bit  in 
the  world,"  said  Louis,  whose  tact  was  instinctive 
and  indestructible. 

"Oh,  that!"  said  Horrocleave,  as  though  nothing 
was  further  from  his  mind  than  the  peculiarity  of  his 
gait  that  morning.     He  bit  his  lip. 

"Slipped  over  something?"  Louis  suggested. 

"Ay!"  said  Horrocleave,  somewhat  less  ominously, 
and  began  to  open  his  letters. 

Louis  saw  that  he  had  done  well  to  feign  ignorance 
of  the  sprain  and  to  assume  that  Horrocleave  had 
slipped,  whereas  in  fact  Horrocleave  had  put  his 

126 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

foot  through  a  piece  of  rotten  wood.  Everybody  in 
the  works,  upon  pain  of  death,  would  have  to  pretend 
that  the  employer  had  merely  slipped,  and  that  the 
consequences  were  negligible.  Horrocleave  had  al- 
ready nearly  eaten  an  old  man  alive  for  the  sin  of 
asking  whether  he  had  hurt  himself ! 

And  he  had  not  hurt  himself  because  two  days 
previously  he  had  ferociously  stopped  the  odd-man 
of  the  works  from  wasting  his  time  in  mending  just 
that  identical  stair,  and  had  asserted  that  the  stair 
was  in  excellent  condition.  Horrocleave,  though 
Napoleonic  by  disposition,  had  a  provincial  mind, 
even  a  Five  Towns  mind.  He  regarded  as  sheer  loss 
any  expenditure  on  repairs  or  renewals  or  the  proc- 
esses of  cleansing.  His  theory  was  that  everything 
would  "do"  indefinitely.  He  passed  much  of  his 
time  in  making  things  "do."  His  confidence  in  the 
theory  that  things  could  indeed  be  made  to  "do" 
was  usually  justified,  but  the  steps  from  the  painting- 
shop — a  gimcrack  ladder  with  hand-rail,  attached 
somehow  externally  to  a  wall — had  at  length  be- 
trayed it.  That  the  accident  had  happened  to  him- 
self and  not  to  a  lad  balancing  a  plankful  of  art- 
luster  ware  on  one  shoulder,  was  sheer  luck.  And 
now  the  odd-man,  with  the  surreptitious  air  of  one 
engaged  in  a  nefarious  act,  was  putting  a  new  tread 
on  the  stairs.  Thus  devoutly  are  the  Napoleonic 
served! 

Horrocleave  seemed  to  weary  of  his  correspond- 
ence. 

"By  the  by,"  he  said  in  a  strange  tone,  "let's 
have  a  look  at  that  petty-cash  book." 

Louis  rose,  and  with  all  his  charm,  with  all  the 
elegance  of  a  man  intended  by  nature  for  wealth  and 

127 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

fashion  instead  of  a  slave  on  a  foul  pot-bank,  gave 
up  the  book.  It  was  like  giving  up  hope  to  the  last 
vestige,  like  giving  up  the  ghost.  He  saw  with 
horrible  clearness  that  he  had  been  deceiving  him- 
self, that  Horrocleave's  ruthless  eye  could  not  fail 
to  discern  at  the  first  glance  all  his  neat  dodges,  such 
as  additions  of  ten  to  the  shillings,  and  even  to  the 
pounds  here  and  there,  and  ingenious  errors  in  carry- 
ing forward  totals  from  the  bottom  of  one  page  to 
the  top  of  the  next.  He  began  to  speculate  whether 
Horrocleave  would  be  content  merely  to  fling  him 
out  of  the  office,  or  whether  he  would  prosecute. 
Prosecution  seemed  much  more  in  accordance  with 
the  Napoleonic  temperament,  and  yet  Louis  could 
not,  then,  conceive  himself  the  victim  of  a  prose- 
cution. .  .  .  Anybody  else,  but  not  Louis  Fores! 

Horrocleave,  his  elbow  on  the  table,  leaned  his 
head  on  his  hand  and  began  to  examine  the  book. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up  at  Louis,  who  could  not  move 
and  could  not  cease  from  agreeably  smiling. 

Said  Horrocleave  in  a  still  more  peculiar  tone: 

"Just  ask  Axon  whether  he  means  to  go  fetch 
wages  to-day  or  to-morrow.  Has  he  forgotten  it's 
Saturday  morning  ?" 

Louis  shot  away  into  the  outer  office,  where  Axon 
was  just  putting  on  his  hat  to  go  to  the  bank. 

Alone  in  the  outer  office,  Louis  wondered.  The 
whole  of  his  vitality  was  absorbed  in  the  single 
function  of  wondering.  Then,  through  the  thin  slit 
of  the  half -open  door  between  the  top  and  the  middle 
hinges,  he  beheld  Horrocleave  bending  in  judgment 
over  the  book.  And  he  gazed  at  the  vision  in  the 
fascination  of  horror.  In  a  few  moments  Horro- 
cleave leaned  back,  and  Louis  saw  that  his  face  had 

128 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

turned  paler.  It  went  almost  white.  Horrocleave 
was  breathing  strangely,  his  arms  dropped  down- 
ward, his  body  slipped  to  one  side,  his  cap  fell  off, 
his  eyes  shut,  his  mouth  opened,  his  head  sank 
loosely  over  the  back  of  the  chair  like  the  head  of 
a  corpse.  He  had  fainted.  The  thought  passed 
through  Louis'  mind  that  stupefaction  at  the  com- 
plex unrighteousness  of  the  petty-cash  records  had 
caused  Horrocleave  to  lose  consciousness.  Then  the 
true  explanation  occurred  to  him.  It  was  the  pain 
in  his  ankle  that  had  overcome  the  heroic  sufferer. 
Louis  desired  to  go  to  his  aid,  but  he  could  not 
budge  from  his  post.  Presently  the  color  began 
slowly  to  return  to  Horrocleave's  cheek;  his  eyes 
opened;  he  looked  round  sleepily  and  then  wildly; 
and  then  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  yawned.  He  re- 
mained quiescent  for  several  minutes,  while  a  railway 
lorry  thundered  through  the  archway  and  the  hoofs 
of  the  great  horse  crunched  on  shawds  in  the  yard. 
Then  he  called,  in  a  subdued  voice : 

" Louis!     Where  the  devil  are  ye?" 

Louis  re-entered  the  room,  and  as  he  did  so  Horro- 
cleave shut  the  petty-cash  book  with  an  abrupt 
gesture. 

"Here,  take  it!"  said  he,  pushing  the  book  away. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  Louis  asked. 

Horrocleave  nodded.  "Well,  I've  checked  about 
forty  additions."     And  he  smiled  sardonically. 

"I  think  you  might  do  it  a  bit  oftener,"  said  Louis, 
and  then  went  on:  "I  say,  don't  you  think  it  might 
be  a  good  thing  if  you  took  your  boot  off.  You  never 
know,  when  you've  slipped,  whether  it  won't  swell — 
I  mean  the  ankle." 

"Bosh!"  exclaimed  Horrocleave,  with  precipita- 

9  129 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

tion,  but  after  an  instant  added,  thoughtfully: 
1 'Well,  I  dun'no'.  Wouldn't  do  any  harm,  would  it? 
I  say — get  me  some  water,  will  you?  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  but  I'm  as  thirsty  as  a  dog." 

The  heroic  martyr  to  the  affirmation  that  he  had 
not  hurt  himself  had  handsomely  saved, his  honor. 
He  could  afford  to  relax  a  little  now  the  rigor  of 
consistency  in  conduct.  With  twinges  and  yawns  he 
permitted  Louis  to  help  him  with  the  boot  and  to 
put  an  art-luster  cup  to  his  lips. 

Louis  was  in  the  highest  spirits.  He  had  seen  the 
gates  of  the  Inferno,  and  was  now  snatched  up  to 
Paradise.  He  knew  that  Horrocleave  had  never 
more  than  half  suspected  him,  and  that  the  terrible 
Horrocleave  pride  would  prevent  Horrocleave  from 
asking  for  the  book  again.  Henceforth,  saved  by  a 
miracle,  he  could  live  in  utter  rectitude;  he  could 
respond  freely  to  the  inspiring  influence  of  Rachel, 
and  he  would  do  so.  He  smiled  at  his  previous  fears, 
and  was  convinced,  by  no  means  for  the  first  time, 
that  a  providence  watched  over  him  because  of  his 
good  intentions  and  his  nice  disposition — that  noth- 
ing really  serious  could  ever  occur  to  Louis  Fores. 
He  reflected  happily  that  in  a  few  days  he  would 
begin  a  new  petty-cash  book — and  he  envisaged  it  as 
a  symbol  of  his  new  life.  The  future  smiled.  He 
made  sure  that  his  aunt  Maldon  was  dying,  and 
though  he  liked  hef  very  much  and  would  regret  her 
demise,  he  could  not  be  expected  to  be  blind  to  the 
fact  that  a  proportion  of  her  riches  would  devolve 
on  himself.  Indeed,  in  unluckily  causing  a  loss  of 
money  to  his  aunt  Maldon  he  had  in  reality  only  been 
robbing  himself.  So  that  there  was  no  need  for  any 
kind  of  remorse.     When  the  works  closed  for  the 

130 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

week-end,  he  walked  almost  serenely  up  to  Bycars 
for  news — news  less  of  his  aunt's  condition  than  of 
the  discovery  that  a  certain  roll  of  bank-notes  had 
been  mislaid. 

in 

The  front  door  was  open  when  Louis  arrived  at 
Mrs.  Maldon's  house,  and  he  walked  in.  Anybody 
might  have  walked  in.  There  was  nothing  unusual 
in  this;  it  was  not  a  sign  that  the  mistress  of  the  house 
was  ill  in  bed  and  its  guardianship  therefore  dis- 
organized. The  front  doors  of  Bursley — even  the 
most  select — were  constantly  ajar  and  the  fresh  wind 
from  off  the  pot-bank  was  constantly  blowing  through 
those  exposed  halls  and  up  those  staircases.  For 
the  demon  of  public  inquisitiveness  is  understood  in 
the  Five  Towns  to  be  a  nocturnal  demon.  The 
fear  of  it  begins  only  at  dusk.  A  woman  who  in  the 
evening  protects  her  parlor  like  her  honor,  will, 
while  the  sun  is  above  the  horizon,  show  the  sacred 
secrets  of  the  kitchen  itself  to  anyone  who  chooses 
to  stand  on  the  front  step. 

Louis  put  his  hat  and  stick  on  the  oak  chest,  and 
with  a  careless,  elegant  gesture  brushed  back  his  dark 
hair.  The  door  of  the  parlor  was  slightly  ajar.  He 
pushed  it  gently  open,  and  peeped  round  it  with  a 
pleasant  arch  expression,  on  the  chance  of  there 
being  some  one  within. 

Rachel  was  lying  on  the  Chesterfield.  Her  left 
cheek,  resting  on  her  left  hand,  was  embedded  in  the 
large  cushion.  A  large  coil  of  her  tawny  hair,  dis- 
placed, had  spread  loosely  over  the  dark  green  of  the 
sofa.  The  left  foot  hung  limp  over  the  edge  of  the 
sofa;  the  jutting  angle  of  the  right  knee  divided 

131 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

sharply  the  drapery  of  her  petticoat  into  two  sys- 
tems, and  her  right  shoe  with  its  steel  buckle  pressed 
against  the  yielding  back  of  the  Chesterfield.  The 
right  arm  lay  lissom  like  a  snake  across  her  breast. 
All  her  muscles  were  lax,  and  every  full  curve  of  her 
body  tended  downward  in  response  to  the  negligent 
pose.  Her  eyes  were  shut,  her  face  flushed;  and  her 
chest  heaved  with  the  slow  regularity  of  her  deep, 
unconscious  breathing. 

Louis  as  he  gazed  was  enchanted.  This  was  not 
Miss  Fleckring,  the  companion  and  household  help 
of  Mrs.  Maldon,  but  a  nymph,  a  fay,  the  universal 
symbol  of  his  highest  desire.  ...  He  would  have 
been  happy  to  kiss  the  glinting  steel  buckle,  so 
feminine,  so  provocative,  so  coy.  The  tight  rounded 
line  of  the  waist,  every  bend  of  the  fingers,  the  fall 
of  the  eyelashes — all  were  exquisite  and  precious  to 
him  after  the  harsh,  unsatisfying,  desolating  mascu- 
linity of  Horrocleave's.  This  was  the  divine  reward 
of  Horrocleave's,  the  sole  reason  of  Horrocleave's. 
Horrocleave's  only  existed  in  order  that  this  might 
exist  and  be  maintained  amid  cushions  and  the  soft- 
ness of  calm  and  sequestered  interiors,  waiting  for 
ever  in  acquiescence  for  the  arrival  of  manful  doers 
from  Horrocleave's.  The  magnificent  pride  of  male 
youth  animated  Louis.  He  had  not  a  care  in  the 
world.  Even  his  long-unpaid  tailor's  bill  was  magi- 
cally abolished.  He  was  an  embodiment  of  exulting 
hope  and  fine  aspirations. 

Rachel  stirred,  dimly  aware  of  the  invasion.  And 
Louis,  actuated  by  the  most  delicate  regard  for  her 
sensitive  modesty,  vanished  back  for  a  moment  into 
the  hall,  until  she  should  have  fitted  herself  for  his 
beholding. 

132 


THEORIES    OF   THE   THEFT 

Mrs.  Tarns  had  come  from  somewhere  into  the 
hall.  She  was  munching  a  square  of  bread  and  cold 
bacon,  and  she  courtesied,  exclaiming: 

1 '  It's  never  Mester  Fores !  That's  twice  her's  been 
woke  up  this  day!" 

14 Who's  there?"  Rachel  called  out,  and  her  voice 
had  the  breaking  bewildered  softness  of  a  woman's  in 
the  dark,  emerging  from  a  dream. 

"Sorry!    Sorry!"  said  Louis,  behind  the  door. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  reassured  him. 

He  returned  to  the  room.  She  was  sitting  up- 
right on  the  sofa,  her  arms  a  little  extended  and  the 
tips  of  her  fingers  touching  the  sofa.  The  coil  of  her 
hair  had  been  arranged.  The  romance  of  the  ex- 
citing night  still  clung  to  her,  for  Louis:  but  what 
chiefly  seduced  him  was  the  mingling  in  her  mien  of 
soft  confusion  and  candid,  sturdy  honesty  and  de- 
pendableness.  He  felt  that  here  was  not  only  a 
ravishing  charm,  but  a  source  of  moral  strength  from 
which  he  could  draw  inexhaustibly  that  which  he  had 
had  a  slight  suspicion  he  lacked.  He  felt  that  here 
was  joy  and  salvation  united,  and  it  seemed  too  good 
to  be  true.  Strange  that  when  she  greeted  him  at 
the  doorstep  on  the  previous  evening,  he  had  im- 
agined that  she  was  revealing  herself  to  him  for  the 
first  time;  and  again  later,  in  the  kitchen,  he  had 
imagined  that  she  was  revealing  herself  to  him  for  the 
first  time;  and  again  still  later,  in  the  sudden  crisis 
at  his  bedroom  door,  he  had  imagined  that  she  was 
revealing  herself  to  him  for  the  first  time !  For  now 
he  perceived  that  he  had  never  really  seen  her  before; 
and  he  was  astounded  and  awed. 

"Auntie  still  on  the  up-grade?"  he  inquired,  using 
all  his  own  charm.     He  guessed,  of  course,  that  Mrs. 

i33 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Maldon  must  be  still  better,  and  he  was  very  glad, 
although,  if  she  recovered,  it  would  be  she  and  not 
himself  that  he  had  deprived  of  bank-notes. 

"Oh  yes,  she's  better,"  said  Rachel,  not  moving 
from  the  sofa;  "but  have  you  heard  what's  hap- 
pened?" 

In  spite  of  himself  he  trembled,  awaiting  the  dis- 
closure. "Now  for  the  bank-notes!"  he  reflected, 
bracing  his  nerves.     He  shook  his  head. 

She  told  him  what  had  happened;  she  told  him  at 
length,  quickening  her  speech  as  she  proceeded.  And 
for  a  few  moments  it  was  as  if  he  was  being  engulfed 
by  an  enormous  wave,  and  would  drown.  But  the 
next  instant  he  recollected  that  he  was  on  dry  land, 
safe,  high  beyond  the  reach  of  any  catastrophe.  His 
position  was  utterly  secure.  The  past  was  past;  the 
leaf  was  turned.  He  had  but  to  forget,  and  he  was 
confident  of  his  ability  to  forget.  The  compartments 
of  his  mind  were  innumerable,  and  as  separate  as  the 
dungeons  of  a  medieval  prison. 

"Isn't  it  awful?"  she  murmured. 

"Well,  it  is  rather  awful!" 

■ '  Nine  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds !    Fancy  it !" 

The  wave  approached  him  again  as  she  named 
the  sum.  Nevertheless,  he  never  once  outwardly 
blenched.  As  he  had  definitely  put  away  un- 
righteousness, so  his  face  showed  no  sign  of  guilt. 
Like  many  ingenuous-minded  persons,  he  had  in  a 
high  degree  the  faculty  of  appearing  innocent — 
except  when  he  really  was  innocent. 

"If  you  ask  me,"  said  Rachel,  "she  never  took 
any  of  the  notes  up-stairs  at  all.  She  left  them  all 
somewhere  down-stairs,  and  only  took  the  serviette 
up-stairs." 

i34 


THEORIES    OF   THE   THEFT 

M 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  thoughtfully,  wondering  wheth- 
er, on  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Maldon  had  not  taken 
all  the  notes  up-stairs,  and  left  none  of  them  down- 
stairs. Was  it  possible  that  in  that  small  roll,  in 
that  crushed  ball  that  he  had  dropped  into  the  grate, 
there  was  nearly  a  thousand  pounds — the  equivalent 
of  an  income  of  a  pound  a  week  for  ever  and  ever? 
.  .  .  Never  mind!  The  incident,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  was  closed.  The  dogma  of  his  future  life 
would  be  that  the  bank-notes  had  never  existed. 

"And  I've  looked  ez;'rywhere!"  Rachel  insisted 
with  strong  emphasis. 

Louis  remarked,  thoughtfully,  as  though  a  new 
aspect  of  the  affair  was  presenting  itself  to  him: 

"It's  really  rather  serious,  you  know!" 

"I  should  just  say  it  was — as  much  money  as  that !" 

"I  mean,"  said  Louis,  "for  everybody.  That  is 
to  say,  Julian  and  me.     We're  involved." 

"How  can  you  be  involved?  You  didn't  even 
know  it  was  in  the  house." 

"No.  But  the  old  lady  might  have  dropped  it. 
I  might  have  picked  it  up.  Julian  might  have  picked 
it  up.     Who's  to  prove — " 

She  cut  in  coldly : 

"Please  don't  talk  like  that!" 

He  smiled  with  momentary  constraint.  He  said 
to  himself: 

"It  won't  do  to  talk  to  this  kind  of  girl  like  that. 
She  won't  stand  it.  .  .  .  Why,  she  wouldn't  even 
dream  of  suspicion  falling  on  herself — wouldn't  dream 
of  it." 

After  a  silence  he  began : 

"Well — "  and  made  a  gesture  to  imply  that  the 
enigma  baffled  him. 

i35 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"I  give  it  up!"  breathed  Rachel,  intimately.  "I 
fairly  give  it  up!" 

"  And  of  course  that  was  the  cause  of  her  attack?  "he 
said,  suddenly,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

Rachel  nodded :  ' '  Evidently. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I'll  look  in  again  during  the 
afternoon.  I  must  be  getting  along  for  my  grub." 
He  was  hoping  that  he  had  not  unintentionally 
brought  about  his  aunt's  death. 

"Not  had  your  dinner!"  she  cried.  "Why!  It's 
after  half -past  two!" 

"Oh,  well,  you  know  .  .  .  Saturday  .  .  ." 

"I  shall  get  you  a  bit  of  dinner  here,"  she  said. 
"And  then  perhaps  Mrs.  Maldon  will  be  waking  up. 
Yes,"  she  repeated,  positively,  "I  shall  get  you  a 
bit  of  dinner  here,  myself.  Mrs.  Maldon  would  not 
be  at  all  pleased  if  I  didn't." 

"I'm  frightfully  hungry,"  he  admitted. 

And  he  was. 

When  she  had  left  the  parlor  he  perceived  evi- 
dences here  and  there  that  she  had  been  hunting  up 
hill  and  down  dale  for  the  notes;  and  he  went  into 
the  back  room,  with  an  earnest,  examining  air,  as 
though  he  might  find  part  of  the  missing  hoard,  after 
all,  in  some  niche  overlooked  by  Rachel.  He  would 
have  preferred  to  think  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  not 
taken  the  whole  of  the  money  up-stairs,  but  reflection 
did  much  to  convince  him  that  she  had.  It  was  infinite- 
ly regrettable  that  he  had  not  counted  his  treasure- 
trove  under  the  chair. 

IV 

The  service  of  his  meal,  which  had  the  charm  of 
a  picnic,  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  the  doctor, 

136 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

whose  report  on  the  invalid,  however,  was  so  favor- 
able that  Louis  could  quite  dismiss  the  possibly 
homicidal  aspect  of  his  dealings  with  the  bank-notes. 
The  shock  of  the  complete  disappearance  of  the  vast 
sum  had  perhaps  brought  Mrs.  Maldon  to  the  brink 
of  death,  but  she  had  edged  safely  away  again,  in 
accordance  with  her  own  calm  prophecy  that  very 
morning.  When  the  doctor  had  gone,  and  the 
patient  was  indulged  in  her  desire  to  be  left  alone 
for  sleep,  Louis  very  slowly  and  luxuriously  finished 
his  repast,  with  Rachel  sitting  opposite  to  him,  in 
Mrs.  Maldon's  place,  at  the  dining-table.  He  lit  a 
cigarette  and,  gracefully  leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  gazed  at  her  through  the  beautiful  gray 
smoke- veil,  which  was  like  the  clouds  of  Paradise. 
What  thrilled  Louis  was  the  obvious  fact  that  he 
fascinated  her.  She  was  transformed  under  his 
glance.  How  her  eyes  shone!  How  her  cheek 
flushed  and  paled!  What  passionate  vitality  found 
vent  in  her  little  gestures!  But  in  the  midst  of  this 
transformation  her  honesty,  her  loyalty,  her  ex- 
quisite ingenuousness,  her  superb  dependability 
remained.  She  was  no  light  creature,  no  flirt  nor 
seeker  after  dubious  sensations.  He  felt  that  at  last 
he  was  appreciated  by  one  whose  appreciation  was 
tremendously  worth  having.  He  was  confirmed  in 
that  private  opinion  of  himself  that  no  mistakes 
hitherto  made  in  his  career  had  been  able  to  destroy. 
He  felt  happy  and  confident  as  never  before.  Luck, 
of  course;  but  luck  deserved!  He  could  marry  this 
unique  creature  and  be  idolized  and  cherished  for  the 
rest  of  his  life.  In  an  instant,  from  being  a  scorner 
of  conjugal  domesticity,  he  became  a  scorner  of  the 
bachelor's  existence  with  its  immeasurable  secret 

i37 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

ennui  hidden  beneath  the  jaunty  cloak  of  a  specious 
freedom — freedom  to  be  bored,  freedom  to  fret,  and 
long  and  envy,  freedom  to  eat  ashes  and  masticate 
dust!  He  would  marry  her.  Yes,  he  was  saved, 
because  he  was  loved.  And  he  meant  to  be  worthy 
of  his  regenerate  destiny.  All  the  best  part  of  his 
character  came  to  the  surface  and  showed  in  his  face. 
But  he  did  not  ask  his  heart  whether  he  was  or  was 
not  in  love  with  Rachel.  The  point  did  not  present 
itself.  He  certainly  never  doubted  that  he  was 
seeing  her  with  a  quite  normal  vision. 

Their  talk  went  through  and  through  the  enor- 
mous topic  of  the  night  and  day,  arriving  at  no  con- 
clusion whatever,  except  that  there  was  no  con- 
clusion— not  even  a  theory  of  a  conclusion.  (And 
the  Louis  who  now  discussed  the  case  was  an  innocent 
reborn  Louis,  quite  unconnected  with  the  Louis  of 
the  previous  evening;  he  knew  no  more  of  the 
inwardness  of  the  affair  than  Rachel  did.  Of  such 
singular  feats  of  doubling  the  personality  is  the  self- 
deceiving  mind  capable.)  After  a  time  it  became 
implicit  in  the  tone  of  their  conversation  that  the 
mysterious  disappearance  in  a  small  ordinary  house 
of  even  so  colossal  a  sum  as  nine  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  pounds  did  not  mean  the  end  of  the  world. 
That  is  to  say,  they  grew  accustomed  to  the  situation. 
Louis  indeed  permitted  himself  to  suggest,  as  a  man 
of  the  large  still-existing  world,  that  Rachel  should 
guard  against  overestimating  the  importance  of  the 
sum.  True,  as  he  had  several  times  reflected,  it  did 
represent  an  income  of  about  a  pound  a  week!  But, 
after  all,  what  was  a  pound  a  week,  viewed  in  a 
proper  perspective  ?  .  .  . 

Louis  somehow  glided  from  the  enormous  topic  to 

*$* 


THEORIES    OF    THE   THEFT 

the  topic  of  the  newest  cinema — Rachel  had  never 
seen  a  cinema,  except  a  very  primitive  one,  years 
earlier  —  and  old  Batchgrew  was  mentioned,  he 
being  notoriously  a  cinema  magnate.  "I  cannot 
stand  that  man,"  said  Rachel  with  a  candor  that 
showed  to  what  intimacy  their  talk  had  developed. 
Louis  was  delighted  by  the  explosion,  and  they 
both  fell  violently  upon  Thomas  Batchgrew  and 
found  intense  pleasure  in  destroying  him.  And 
Louis  was  saying  to  himself,  enthusiastically:  "How 
well  she  understands  human  nature!" 

So  that  when  old  Batchgrew,  without  any  warning 
or  preliminary  sound,  stalked  pompously  into  the 
room  their  young  confusion  was  excessive.  They 
felt  themselves  suddenly  in  the  presence  of  not 
merely  a  personal  adversary,  but  of  an  enemy  of 
youth  and  of  love  and  of  joy — of  a  being  mysterious 
and  malevolent  who  neither  would  nor  could  com- 
prehend them.  And  they  were  at  once  resentful  and 
intimidated. 

During  the  morning  Councilor  Batchgrew  had 
provided  himself — doubtless  by  purchase,  since  he 
had  not  been  home — with  a  dandiacal  spotted  white 
waistcoat  in  honor  of  the  warm  and  sunny  weather. 
This  waistcoat  by  its  sprightly  unsuitability  to  his 
aged  uncouthness,  somehow  intensified  the  sinister 
quality  of  his  appearance. 

"Found  it?"  he  demanded,  tersely. 

Rachel,  strangely  at  a  loss,  hesitated  and  glanced 
at  Louis  as  if  for  succor. 

"No,  I  haven't,  Mr.  Batchgrew,"  she  said.  "I 
haven't,  I'm  sure.  And  I've  turned  over  every 
possible  thing  likely  or  unlikely." 

Mr.  Batchgrew  growled: 
i39 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"From  th'  look  of  ye  I  made  sure  that  th'  money 
had  turned  up  all  right — ye  were  that  comfortable 
and  cozy!  Who'd  guess  as  nigh  on  a  thousand 
pound  's  missing  out  of  this  house  since  last  night.' ' 

The  heavy  voice  rolled  over  them  brutally.  Louis 
attempted  to  withstand  Mr.  Batchgrew's  glare,  but 
failed.  He  was  sure  of  the  absolute  impregnability 
of  his  own  position;  but  the  clear  memory  of  at  least 
one  humiliating  and  disastrous  interview  with 
Thomas  Batchgrew  in  the  past  robbed  Louis'  eye  of 
its  composure.  The  circumstances  under  which  he 
had  left  the  councilor's  employ  some  years  ago  were 
historic  and  unforgettable. 

"I  came  in  back  way  instead  of  front  way,"  said 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  "because  I  thought  I'd  have  a 
look  at  that  scullery  door.     Kitchen's  empty." 

"What  about  the  scullery  door?"  Louis  lightly 
demanded. 

Rachel  murmured: 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you;  it  was  open  when  I  came 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  night."  And  then  she 
added:  "Wide  open." 

"Upon  my  soul!"  said  Louis,  slowly,  with  marked 
constraint.  ' '  I  really  forget  whether  I  looked  at  that 
door  before  I  went  to  bed.  I  know  I  looked  at  all 
the  others." 

"I'd  looked  at  it,  anyway,"  said  Rachel,  defiantly, 
gazing  at  the  table. 

"And  when  you  found  it  open,  miss,"  pursued 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  "what  did  ye  do?" 

"I  shut  it  and  locked  it." 

"Where  was  the  key?" 

"In  the  door." 

"Lock  in  order?" 

140 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  how  could  it  have  been  opened  from 
the  outside?  There  isn't  a  mark  on  the  door,  out- 
side or  in."    3 

"As  far  as  that  goes,  Mr.  Batchgrew,"  said  Rachel, 
"only  last  week  the  key  fell  out  of  the  lock  on  the 
inside  and  slid  down  the  brick  floor  to  the  outside — 
you  know  there's  a  slope.  And  I  had  to  go  out  of 
the  house  by  the  front  and  the  lamplighter  climbed 
over  the  back  gate  for  me  and  let  me  into  the  yard 
so  that  I  could  get  the  key  again.  That  might  have 
happened  last  night.  Some  one  might  have  shaken 
the  key  out,  and  pulled  it  under  the  door  with  a  bit 
of  wire  or  something." 

"That  won't  do,"  Thomas  Batchgrew  stopped 
her.  "You  said  the  key  was  in  the  door  on  the 
inside." 

"Well,  when  they'd  once  opened  the  door  from 
the  outside,  couldn't  they  have  put  the  key  on  the 
inside  again?" 

"They?    Who?" 

"Burglars." 

Thomas  Batchgrew  repeated  sarcastically: 

' ' Burglars !    Burglars !"  and  snorted. 

"Well,  Mr.  Batchgrew,  either  burglars  must  have 
been  at  work,"  said  Louis,  who  was  fascinated  by 
Rachel's  surprising  news  and  equally  surprising 
theory — "either  burglars  must  have  been  at  work," 
he  repeated  impressively,  "or — the  money  is  still  in 
the  house.     That's  evident." 

"Is  it?"  snarled  Batchgrew.  "Look  here,  miss, 
and  you,  young  Fores,  I  didn't  make  much  o'  this 
this  morning,  because  I  thought  th'  money  'u'd 
happen  be  found.     But  seeing  as  it  isn't,  and  as 

141  >. 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

we're  talking  about  it,  what  time  was  the  rumpus 
last  night  ?" 

"What  time?"  Rachel  muttered.  "What  time 
was  it,  Mr.  Fores?" 

"I  dun'no',"  said  Louis.  "Perhaps  the  doctor 
would  know." 

"Oh!"  said  Rachel,  "Mrs.  Tarns  said  the  hall  clock 
had  stopped ;  that  must  have  been  when  Mrs.  Maldon 
knocked  up  against  it." 

She  went  to  the  parlor  door  and  opened  it,  dis- 
playing the  hall  clock,  which  showed  twenty-five 
minutes  past  twelve.  Louis  had  crept  up  behind 
Mr.  Batchgrew,  who  in  his  inapposite  white  waist- 
coat stood  between  the  two  lovers,  stertorous  with 
vague  anathema. 

"So  that  was  the  time,"  said  he.  "And  th' 
burglars  must  ha'  been  and  gone  afore  that.  A  likely 
thing  burglars  coming  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 
isn't  it?  And  I'll  tell  ye  summat  else.  Them 
burglars  was  copped  last  night  at  Knype  at  eleven 
o'clock  when  th'  pubs  closed,  if  ye  want  to  know — 
the  whole  gang  of  three  on  'em." 

"Then  what  about  that  burglary  last  night  down 
the  lane?"  Rachel  asked,  sharply. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Louis.  "Was  there  a  burglary 
down  the  lane  last  night?    I  didn't  know  that." 

"No,  there  wasn't,"  said  Batchgrew,  ruthlessly. 
"That  burglary  was  a  practical  joke,  and  it's  all  over 
the  town.  Denry  Machin  had  a  hand  in  that  affair, 
and  by  now  I  dare  say  he  wishes  he  hadn't." 

"Still,  Mr.  Batchgrew,"  Louis  argued,  superiorly, 
with  the  philosophic  impartiality  of  a  man  well 
accustomed  to  the  calm  unraveling  of  crime,  "there 
may  be  other  burglars  in  the  land  beside  just  those 

142 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

three.' '  He  would  not  willingly  allow  the  theory  of 
burglars  to  crumble.  Its  attractiveness  increased 
every  moment. 

"There  may  and  there  mayn't,  young  Fores,"  said 
Thomas  Batchgrew.  "Did  you  hear  anything  of 
'em?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  Louis  replied,  restively. 

"And  yet  you  ought  to  have  been  listening  out 
for  'em." 

"Why  ought  I  to  have  been  listening  out  for 
them?" 

"Knowing  there  was  all  that  money  in  th'  house." 

"Mr.  Fores  didn't  know,"  said  Rachel. 

Louis  felt  himself  unjustly  smirched. 

"It's  scarcely  an  hour  ago,"  said  he,  "that  I  heard 
about  this  money  for  the  first  time."  And  he  felt 
as  innocent  and  aggrieved  as  he  looked. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  smacked  his  lips  loudly. 

"Then,"  he  announced,  "I'm  going  down  to  th' 
police  station,  to  put  it  i'  Snow's  hands." 

Rachel  straightened  herself. 

"But  surely  not  without  telling  Mrs.  Maldon?" 

Mr.  Batchgrew  fingered  his  immense  whiskers. 

"Is  she  better?"  he  inquired,  threateningly.  This 
was  his  first  sign  of  interest  in  Mrs.  Maldon's  con- 
dition. 

"Oh  yes;  much.  She's  going  on  very  well.  The 
doctor's  just  been." 

"Is  she  asleep?" 

"She's  resting.     She  may  be  asleep." 

"Did  ye  tell  her  ye  hadn't  found  her  money?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  didn't  say  anything." 

i43 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

"It  might  be  municipal  money,  for  all  she  seems 
to  care!"  remarked  Thomas  Batchgrew,  with  a  short, 
bitter  grin.  "Well,  I'll  be  moving  to  th'  police 
station.  I've  never  come  across  aught  like  this 
before,  and  I'm  going  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

Rachel  slipped  out  of  the  door  into  the  hall. 

"Please  wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Batchgrew,"  she 
whispered,  timidly. 

"What  for?" 

"Till  I've  told  Mrs.  Maldon." 

"But  if  her's  asleep?" 

"I  must  waken  her.  I  couldn't  think  of  letting 
you  go  to  the  police  station  without  letting  her  know 
— after  what  she  said  this  morning." 

Rachel  waited.     Mr.  Batchgrew  glanced  aside. 

"Here!  Come  here!"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew  in  a 
different  tone.  The  fact  was  that,  put  to  the  proof, 
he  dared  not,  for  all  his  autocratic  habit,  openly 
disobey  the  injunction  of  the  benignant,  indifferent, 
helpless  Mrs.  Maldon.  "Come  here!"  he  repeated, 
coarsely.  Rachel  obeyed,  shamefaced  despite  her- 
self. Batchgrew  shut  the  door.  "Now,"  he  said, 
grimly,  "what's  your  secret?  Out  with  it.  I  know 
you  and  her's  got  a  secret.     What  is  it?" 

Rachel  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  startled  both  men  by  a  sob.  She  wept 
with  violence.  And  then  through  her  tears,  and  half 
looking  up,  she  cried  out  passionately:  "It's  all  your 
fault.  Why  did  you  leave  the  money  in  the  house 
at  all?  You  know  you'd  no  right  to  do  it,  Mr. 
Batchgrew!" 

The  councilor  was  shaken  out  of  his  dignity  by 
the  incredible  impudence  of  this  indictment  from  a 
chit  like  Rachel.     Similar  experiences,  however,  had 

144 


THEORIES    OF   THE   THEFT 

happened  to  him  before;  for,  though  as  a  rule  people 
most  curiously  conspired  with  him  to  keep  up  the 
fiction  that  he  was  sacred,  at  rare  intervals  some- 
body's self-control  would  break  down,  and  bitter 
inconvenient  home  truths  would  resound  in  the  ear 
of  Thomas  Batchgrew.  But  he  would  recover  him- 
self in  a  few  moments,  and  usually  some  diversion 
would  occur  to  save  him — he  was  nearly  always 
lucky.  A  diversion  occurred  now,  of  the  least  ex- 
pected kind.  The  cajoling  tones  of  Mrs.  Tarns  were 
heard  on  the  staircase. 

"Nay,  mam!  Nay,  mam!  This  '11  never  do. 
Must  I  go  on  my  bended  knees  to  ye?" 

And  then  the  firm  but  soft  voice  of  Mrs.  Mal- 
don: 

"I  must  speak  to  Mr.  Batchgrew.  I  must  have 
Mr.  Batchgrew  here  at  once.  Didn't  you  hear  me 
call  and  call  to  you?" 

"That  I  didn't,  mam!  I  was  beating  the  feather 
bed  in  the  back  bedroom.  Nay,  not  a  step  lower  do 
you  go,  mam,  not  if  I  lose  me  job  for  it." 

Thomas  Batchgrew  and  Louis  were  already  out 
in  the  hall.  Half-way  down  the  stairs  stood  Mrs. 
Maldon,  supporting  herself  by  the  banisters  and 
being  supported  by  Mrs.  Tarns.  She  was  wearing 
her  pink  peignoir  with  white  frills  at  the  neck  and 
wrists.  Her  black  hair  was  loose  on  her  shoulders 
like  the  hair  of  a  young  girl.  Her  pallid  and  heavily 
seamed  features  with  the  deep  shining  eyes  trembled 
gently,  as  if  in  response  to  a  distant  vibration.  She 
gazed  upon  the  two  silent  men  with  an  expression 
that  united  benignancy  with  profound  inquietude 
and  sadness.  All  her  past  life  was  in  her  face,  in- 
spiring it  with  strength  and  sorrow. 
10  145 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Mr.  Batchgrew,"  she  said.  "I've  heard  your 
voice  for  a  long  time.     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

And  then  she  turned,  yielding  to  the  solicitous 
alarm  of  Mrs.  Tarns,  climbed  feebly  up  the  stairs, 
and  vanished  round  the  corner  at  the  top.  And 
Mrs.  Tarns,  putting  her  frowsy  head  for  an  instant 
over  the  hand-rail,  stopped  to  adjure  Mr.  Batchgrew : 

"Eh,  mester;  ye'd  better  stop  where  ye  are 
awhile." 

From  the  parlor  came  the  faint  sobbing  of  Rachel. 

The  two  men  had  not  a  word  to  say.  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  grunted,  vacillating.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
majestic  apparition  of  Mrs.  Maldon  had  rebuked 
everything  that  was  derogatory  and  undignified  in 
her  trustee,  and  that  both  he  and  Louis  were  apolo- 
gizing to  the  empty  hall  for  being  common,  base 
creatures.  Each  of  them — and  especially  Louis — 
had  the  sense  of  being  awakened  to  events  of  formi- 
dable grandeur  whose  imminence  neither  had  sus- 
pected. Still  assuring  himself  that  his  position  was 
absolutely  safe,  Louis  nevertheless  was  aware  of  a 
sinking  in  the  stomach.  He  could  rebut  any  accusa- 
"And  yet  ...  !"  murmured  his  craven 
conscience.  What  could  be  the  enigma  between 
s.  Maldon  and  Rachel?  He  was  now  trying  to 
convince  himself  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  in  fact 
divided  the  money  into  two  parts,  of  which  he  had 
handled  only  one,  and  that  the  impressive  mystery 
had  to  do  with  the  other  part  of  the  treasure,  which 
he  had  not  seen  nor  touched.  How,  then,  could  he 
personally  be  threatened?  "And  yet  ...  !"  said 
his  conscience,  again. 

In  about  a  minute  Mrs.  Tarns  reappeared  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

146 


THEORIES    OF   THE   THEFT 

"Her  will  have  ye,  mester!"  said  she  to  the 
councilor. 

Thomas  Batchgrew  mounted  after  her. 

Louis  made  a  noise  with  his  tongue  as  if  starting 
a  horse,  and  returned  to  the  parlor. 

Rachel,  still  on  the  sofa,  showed  her  wet  face. 

"I've  got  no  secret,"  she  said,  passionately. 
"And  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Maldon  hasn't.  What's  he 
driving  at?" 

The  natural  freedom  of  her  gestures  and  vehement 
accent  was  enchanting  to  Louis. 

She  jumped  from  the  Chesterfield  and  ran  away 
up-stairs,  flying.  He  followed  to  the  lobby,  and  saw 
her  dash  into  her  own  room  and  feverishly  shut  the 
door,  which  was  in  full  view  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
And  Louis  thought  he  had  never  lived  in  any  mo- 
ment so  exquisite  and  so  alarming  as  that  moment. 

He  was  now  alone  on  the  ground  floor.  He  caught 
no  sound  from  above. 

"Well,  I'd  better  get  out  of  this,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "Anyhow,  I'm  all  right!  .  .  .  What  a  girl! 
Terrific!"  And,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette,  he  left 
the  house. 


"And  now  what's  amiss?"  Thomas  Batchgrew 
demanded,  alone  with  Mrs.  Maldon  in  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  bedroom. 

Mrs.  Maldon  lay  once  more  in  bed;  the  bedclothes 
covered  her  without  a  crease,  and  from  the  neat 
fold-back  of  the  white  sheet  her  wrinkled  ivory  face 
and  curving  black  hair  emerged  so  still  and  calm 
that  her  recent  flight  to  the  stairs  seemed  unreal, 
impossible.     The^  impression   her  mien   gave  was 

147 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

that  she  never  had  moved  and  never  would  move 
from  the  bed.  Thomas  Batchgrew's  blusterous 
voice  frankly  showed  acute  irritation.  He  was  angry 
because  nine  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds  had 
monstrously  vanished,  because  the  chance  of  a  good 
investment  was  lost,  because  Mrs.  Maldon  tied  his 
hands,  because  Rachel  had  forgotten  her  respect  and 
his  dignity  in  addressing  him;  but  more  because  he 
felt  too  old  to  impose  himself  by  sheer  rough-riding 
individual  force  on  the  other  actors  in  the  drama, 
and  still  more  because  he,  and  nobody  else,  had  left 
the  nine  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds  in  the 
house.  What  an  orgy  of  denunciation  he  would 
have  plunged  into  had  some  other  person  insisted 
on  leaving  the  money  in  the  house  with  a  similar 
result ! 

Mrs.  Maldon  looked  up  at  him  with  a  glance  of 
compassion.  She  was  filled  with  pity  for  him  because 
he  had  arrived  at  old  age  without  dignity  and  with- 
out any  sense  of  what  was  fine  in  life;  he  was  not 
even  susceptible  to  the  chastening  influences  of  a 
sick-room.  She  knew,  indeed,  that  he  hated  and 
despised  sickness  in  others,  and  that  when  ill  him- 
self he  became  a  moaning  mass  of  cowardice  and 
vituperation.  And  in  her  heart  she  invented  the 
most  wonderful  excuses  for  him,  and  transformed  him 
into  a  martyr  of  destiny  who  had  suffered  both 
through  ancestry  and  through  environment.  Was  it 
his  fault  that  he  was  thus  tragically  defective?  So 
that  by  the  magic  power  of  her  benevolence  he  be- 
came dignified  in  spite  of  himself. 

She  said : 

1  'Mr.  Batchgrew,  I  want  you  to  oblige  me  by  not 
discussing  my  affairs  with  anyone  but  me." 

148 


THEORIES    OF   THE    THEFT 

At  that  moment  the  front  door  closed  firmly  be- 
low, and  the  bedroom  vibrated. 

"Is  that  Louis  going ?"  she  asked. 

Batchgrew  went  to  the  window  and  looked  down- 
ward, lowering  the  pupils  as  far  as  possible  so  as  to 
see  the  pavement. 

"It's  Louis  going,"  he»replied. 

Mrs.  Maldon  sighed  relief. 

Mr.  Batchgrew  said  no  more. 

"What  were  you  talking  about  down-stairs  to 
those  two?"  Mrs.  Maldon  went  on,  carefully. 

"What  d'ye  suppose  we  were  talking  about?"  re- 
torted Batchgrew,  still  at  the  window.  Then  he 
turned  towards  her  and  proceeded  in  an  outburst: 
"  If  ye  want  to  know,  missis,  I  was  asking  that  young 
wench  what  the  secret  was  between  you  and  her." 

"The  secret?    Between  Rachel  and  me?" 

"Ay!  Ye  both  know  what's  happened  to  them 
notes,  and  ye've  made  it  up  between  ye  to  say 
nowt!" 

Mrs.  Maldon  answered,  gravely: 

"You  are  quite  mistaken.  I  know  nothing,  and 
I'm  sure  Rachel  doesn't.  And  we  have  made  noth- 
ing up  between  us.  How  can  you  imagine  such 
things?" 

"Why  don't  ye  have  the  police  told?" 

"I  cannot  do  with  the  police  in  my  house." 

Mr.  Batchgrew  approached  the  bed  almost  threat- 
eningly. 

"I'll  tell  you  why  ye  won't  have  the  police  told. 
Because  ye  know  Louis  Pores  has  taken  your  money. 
It's  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  Ye  put  it  on  the  chair 
on  the  landing  here,  and  ye  left  it  there,  and  he  came 
along  and  pocketed  it."     Mrs.  Maldon  essayed  to 

149 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

protest,  but  he  cut  her  short.  "Did  he  or  did  he 
not  come  up-stairs  after  ye'd  been  up-stairs  your- 
self? ' 

As  Mrs.  Maldon  hesitated,  Thomas  Batchgrew 
began  to  feel  younger  and  more  impressive. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon  at  length. 
"But  only  because  I  asked  him  to  come  up — to 
fasten  the  window." 

"What  windov 

"The  landing  window." 

Mr.  Batchgrew,  startled  and  delighted  by  this 
unexpected  confirmation  of  his  theory,  exploded : 

"Ha!  .  .  .  And  how  soon  was  that  after  ye'd  been 
up-stairs  with  the  notes?" 

"It  was  just  afterwards." 

"Ha!  ...  I  don't  mind  telling  ye  I've  been  sus- 
pecting that  young  man  ever  since  this  morning. 
I  only  learnt  just  now  as  he  was  in  th'  house  all 
night.  That  made  me  think  for  a  moment  as  he'd 
done  it  after  ye'd  all  gone  to  bed.  And  for  aught  I 
know  he  may  have.  But  done  it  sometime  he  has, 
and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do,  Elizabeth." 

Mrs.  Maldon  maintained  her  serenity. 

"We  may  be  unjust  to  him.  I  should  never  for- 
give myself  if  I  was.  He  has  a  very  good  side  to 
him,  has  Louis!" 

"I've  never  seen  it,"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew,  still 
growing  in  authority.  "He  began  as  a  thief  and 
he'll  end  as  a  thief,  if  it's  no  worse." 

"Began  as  a  thief?"  Mrs.  Maldon  protested. 

"Well,  what  d'ye  suppose  he  left  the  bank  for?" 

"I  never  knew  quite  why  he  left  the  bank.  I 
always  understood  there  was  some  unpleasantness." 

"If  ye  didn't  know,  it  was  because  ye  didn't  want 
150 


THEORIES    OF    THE    THEFT 

to  know.  Ye  never  do  want  to  know  these  things. 
1  Unpleasantness!'  There's  only  one  sort  of  un- 
pleasantness with  the  clerks  in  a  bank !  .  .  .  J  know, 
anyhow,  because  I  took  the  trouble  to  find  out  for 
myself,  when  I  had  that  bother  with  him  in  my 
own  office.     And  a  nice  affair  that  was,  too!" 

"But  you  told  me  at  the  time  that  his  books 
were  all  right  with  you.  Only  you  preferred  not  to 
keep  him."     Mrs.  Maldon's  voice  was  now  plaintive. 

Thomas  Batchgrew  came  close  to  the  bed  and 
leaned  on  the  foot  of  it. 

"There's  some  things  as  you  won't  hear,  Elizabeth. 
His  books  were  all  right,  but  he'd  made  'em  all  right. 
I  got  hold  of  him  afore  he'd  done  more  than  he  could 
undo — that's  all.  There's  one  trifle  as  I  might  ha' 
told  ye  if  ye  hadn't  such  a  way  of  shutting  folks  up 
sometimes,  missis.  I'll  tell  ye  now.  Louis  Fores 
went  down  on  his  knees  to  me  in  my  office.  On  his 
knees,  and  all  blubbing.     What  about  that?" 

Mrs.  Maldon  replied: 

"You  must  have  been  glad  ever  since  that  you  did 
give  the  poor  boy  another  chance." 

"There's  nothing  I've  regretted  more,"  said 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  with  a  grimness  that  became 
him.  "I  heard  last  week  he's  keeping  books  and 
handling  cash  for  Horrocleave  nowadays.  I  know 
how  that  '11  end!  I'd  warn  Horrocleave,  but  it's  no 
business  o'  mine,  especially  as  ye  made  me  help  ye 
to  put  him  into  Horrocleave's.  .  .  .  There's  half  a 
dozen  people  in  this  town  and  in  Hanbridge  that  can 
add  up  Louis  Fores!  And  have  added  him  up! 
And  now  he's  robbed  ye  in  yer  own  house.  But  it 
makes  no  matter.  He's  safe  enough!"  He  sar- 
donically snorted.     "He's  safe  enough.     We  canna' 

151 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

even  stop  the  notes  without  telling  the  police,  and 
ye  won't  have  the  police  told.  Oh  no!  He's  man- 
aged to  get  on  th'  right  side  o'  you.  However,  he'll 
only  finish  in  one  way,  that  chap  will,  whether  you 
and  me's  here  to  see  it  or  not." 

Mr.  Batchgrew  had  grown  really  impressive,  and 
he  knew  it. 

1 '  Don't  let  us  be  hard, ' '  pleaded  Mrs.  Maldon.  And 
then,  in  a  firmer,  prouder  voice : '  *  There  willbe  no  scan- 
dal in  my  family,  Mr.  Batchgrew,  as  long  as  I  live." 

Mr.  Batchgrew's  answer  was  superb  in  its  un- 
conscious ferocity: 

"That  depends  how  long  ye  live." 

His  meaningless  eyes  rested  on  her  with  frosty  im- 
partiality, as  he  reflected: 

"I  wonder  how  long  she'll  last." 

He  felt  strong;  he  felt  immortal.  Exactly  like 
Mrs.  Maldon,  he  was  convinced  that  he  was  old  only 
by  the  misleading  arithmetic  of  years,  that  he  was 
not  really  old,  and  that  there  was  a  subtle  and  vital 
difference  between  all  other  people  of  his  age  and 
himself.  As  for  Mrs.  Maldon,  he  regarded  her  as  a 
mere  poor  relic  of  an  organism. 

"At  our  age,"  Mrs.  Maldon  began,  and  paused  as 
if  collecting  her  thoughts. 

"At  our  age!  At  our  age!"  he  repeated,  sharply 
deprecating  the  phrase. 

"At  our  age,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  with  slow 
insistence,  "we  ought  not  to  be  hard  on  others. 
We  ought  to  be  thinking  of  our  own  sins." 

But,  although  Mrs.  Maldon  was  perhaps  the  one 
person  on  earth  whom  he  both  respected  and  feared, 
Thomas  Batchgrew  listened  to  her  injunction  only 
with  rough  disdain.     He  was  incapable  of  thinking 

J52 


, 


THEORIES    OF   THE   THEFT 

of  his  own  sins.     While  in  health,  he  was  nearly  as 
unaware  of  sin  as  an  animal. 

Nevertheless,  he  turned  uneasily  in  the  silence  of 
the  pale  room,  so  full  of  the  shy  and  prim  refinement 
of  Mrs.  Maldon's  individuality.  He  could  talk 
morals  to  others  in  the  grand  manner,  and  with 
positive  enjoyment,  but  to  be  sermonized  himself 
secretly  exasperated  him  because  it  constrained  him 
and  made  him  self-conscious.  Invariably,  when 
thus  attacked,  he  would  execute  a  flank  movement. 

He  said  bluntly : 

"And  I  suppose  yell  let  him  marry  this  Rachel 
girl  if  he's  a  mind  to!" 

Slowly  a  deep  flush  covered  Mrs.  Maldon's  face. 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  she  questioned,  with 
rising  agitation. 

"I  have  but  just  seen  'em  together." 

Mrs.  Maldon  moved  nervously  in  the  bed. 

"I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  stood  by  and 
let  Louis  marry  Rachel,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a 
sudden  desperate  urgency  in  her  voice. 

"Isn't  she  good  enough  for  a  nephew  o'  yours?" 

"She's  good  enough  for  any  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Maldon,  quietly. 

"Then  it's  him  as  isna'  good  enough!  And  yet,' 
if  he's  got  such  a  good  side  to  him  as  ye  say-—" 
Mr.  Batchgrew  snorted. 

"He's  not  suited  to  her — not  at  all." 

"Now,  missis,"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew  in  triumph, 
"at  last  we're  getting  down  to  your  real  opinion  of 
young  Fores." 

"I  feel  I'm  responsible  for  Rachel,  and —  What 
ought  I  to  do  about  it?" 

"Do?    What  can  a  body  do  when  a  respectable. 
*53 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

young  woman  wi'  red  hair  takes  a  fancy  to  a  youth? 
Nowt,  Elizabeth.  That  young  woman  '11  marry 
Louis  Fores,  and  ye  can  take  it  from  me." 

"But  why  do  you  say  a  thing  like  that?  I  only 
began  to  notice  anything  myself  last  night/  ' 

' ■  She's  lost  her  head  over  him,  that's  all.  I  caught 
'em  just  now.  .  .  .  As  thick  as  thieves  in  your  parlor!" 

"But  I'm  by  no  means  sure  that  he's  smitten 
with  her." 

* '  What  does  it  matter  whether  he  is  or  not  ?  She's 
lost  her  head  over  him,  and  she'll  have  him.  It 
doesn't  want  a  telescope  to  see  as  far  as  that." 

"Well,  then,  I  shall  speak  to  her — I  shall  speak 
to  her  to-morrow  morning,  after  she's  had  a  good 
night's  rest,  when  I  feel  stronger." 

"Ay!    Ye  may!    And  what  shalt  say?" 

"I  shall  warn  her.  I  think  I  shall  know  how  to 
do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  with  a  certain  air  of 
confidence  amid  her  trouble.  "I  wouldn't  run  the 
risk  of  a  tragedy  for  worlds." 

"It's  no  risk  of  a  tragedy,  as  ye  call  it,"  said 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  very  pleased  with  his  own  situa- 
tion in  the  argument.  "It's  a  certainty.  She'll 
believe  him  afore  she  believes  you,  whatever  ye  say. 
You  mark  me.     It's  a  certainty." 

After  elaborate  preparations  of  his  handkerchief, 
he  blew  his  nose  loudly,  because  blowing  his  nose 
loudty  affected  him  in  an  agreeable  manner. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  left,  saying  the  car  would 
be  waiting  for  him  at  the  back  of  the  Town  Hall. 
And  Mrs.  Maldon  lay  alone  until  Mrs.  Tarns  came 
in  with  a  tray. 

"An'  I  hope  that's  enough  company  for  one  day!" 
said  Mrs.  Tarns.     "Now,  sup  it  up,  do!" 


VII 

THE    CINEMA 


THAT  evening  Rachel  sat  alone  in  the  parlor, 
reclining  on  the  Chesterfield  over  the  Signal. 
She  had  picked  up  the  Signal  in  order  to  read  about 
captured  burglars,  but  the  paper  contained  not  one 
word  on  the  subject,  or  on  any  other  subject  except 
football.  The  football  season  had  commenced  in 
splendor,  and  it  happened  to  be  the  football  edition 
of  the  Signal  that  the  paper-boy  'had  foisted  upon 
Mrs.  Maldon's  house.  Despite  repeated  and  posi- 
tive assurances  from  Mrs.  Maldon  that  she  wanted 
the  late  edition  and  not  the  football  edition  on  Satur- 
day nights,  the  football  edition  was  usually  delivered 
because  the  paper-boy  could  not  conceive  that  any 
customer  could  sincerely  not  want  the  football  edi- 
tion. Rachel  was  glancing  in  a  torpid  condition  at 
the  advertisements  of  the  millinery  and  trimming 
shops. 

She  would  have  been  more  wakeful  could  she  have 
divined  the  blow  which  she  had  escaped  a  couple  of 
hours  before.  Between  five  and  six  o'clock,  when  she 
was  up-stairs  in  the  large  bedroom  Mrs.  Maldon  had 
said  to  her:  "Rachel — "  and  stopped.  "Yes,  Mrs. 
Maldon,' '  she  had  replied.     And  Mrs.  Maldon  had 

i55 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

said : '  *  Nothing. ' '  Mrs.  Maldon  had  desired  to  say,  but 
in  words  carefully  chosen:  "Rachel,  I've  never  told 
you  that  Louis  Fores  began  life  as  a  bank  clerk,  and 
was  dismissed  for  stealing  money.  And  even  since 
then  his  conduct  has  not  been  blameless/ '  Mrs. 
Maldon  had  stopped  because  she  could  not  find  the 
form  of  words  which  would  permit  her  to  impart  to 
her  paid  companion  this  information  about  her 
grandnephew.  Mrs.  Maldon,  when  the  moment  for 
utterance  came,  had  discovered  that  she  simply  could 
not  do  it,  and  that  all  her  conscientious  regard  for 
Rachel  and  all  her  sense  of  duty  were  not  enough 
to  make  her  do  it.  So  that  Rachel,  unsuspecting, 
had  been  spared  a  tremendous  emotional  crisis.  By 
this  time  she  had  grown  nearly  accustomed  to  the 
fact  of  the  disappearance  of  the  money.  She  had 
completely  recovered  from  the  hysteria  caused  by  old 
Batchgrew's  attack,  and  was  indeed,  in  the  super- 
vening calm,  very  much  ashamed  of  it. 

She  meant  to  doze,  having  firmly  declined  the 
suggestion  of  Mrs.  Tarns  that  she  should  go  to  bed 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  she  was  just  dropping  the 
paper  when  a  tap  on  the  window  startled  her.  She 
looked  in  alarm  at  the  window,  where  the  position  6i 
one  of  the  blinds  proved  the  correctness  of  Mrs. 
Maldon's  secret  theory  that  if  Mrs.  Maldon  did  not 
keep  a  personal  watch  on  the  blinds  they  would 
never  be  drawn  properly.  Eight  inches  of  black  pane 
showed,  and  behind  that  dark  transparency  some- 
thing vague  and  pale.  She  knew  it  must  be  the 
hand  of  Louis  Fores  that  had  tapped,  and  she  could 
feel  her  heart  beating.  She  flew  on  tiptoe  to  the 
front  door,  and  cautiously  opened  it.  At  the  same 
moment  Louis  sprang  from  the  narrow  space  between 

156 


THE    CINEMA 


the  street-railings  and  the  bow-window  on  to  the 
steps.     He  raised  his  hat  with  the  utmost  grace. 

"I  saw  your  head  over  the  arm  of  the  Chester- 
field/ '  he  said  in  a  cheerful,  natural  low  voice. 
"So  I  tapped  on  the  glass.  I  thought  if  I  knocked 
at  the  door  I  might  waken  the  old  lady.  How  are 
things  to-night  ?" 

In  those  few  words  he  perfectly  explained  his 
manner  of  announcing  himself,  endowing  it  with  the 
highest  propriety.  Rachel's  misgivings  were  soothed 
in  an  instant.  Her  chief  emotion  was  an  ecstatic 
pride — because  he  had  come,  because  he  could  not 
keep  away,  because  she  had  known  that  he  would 
come,  that  he  must  come.  And  in  fact  was  it  not 
his  duty  to  come?  Quietly  he  came  into  the  hall, 
quietly  she  closed  the  door,  and  when  they  were  shut 
up  together  in  the  parlor  they  both  spoke  in  hushed 
voices,  lest  the  invalid  should  be  disturbed.  And 
was  not  this,  too,  highly  proper? 

She  gave  him  the  news  of  the  house  and  said  that 
Mrs.  Tarns  was  taking  duty  in  the  sick-room  till 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  herself  thence- 
forward, but  that  the  invalid  gave  no  apparent  cause 
for  apprehension. 

"Old  Batch  been  again?"  asked  Louis,  with  a 
complete  absence  of  any  constraint. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You'll  find  that  money  yet — somewhere,  when 
you're  least  expecting  it,"  said  he,  almost  gaily. 

"I'm  sure  we  shall,"  she  agreed  with  conviction. 

"And  how  are  you?"  His  tone  became  anxious 
and  particular.  She  blushed  deeply,  for  the  out- 
break of  which  she  had  been  guilty  and  which  he  had 
witnessed;  then  smiled  diffidently. 

157 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right." 

"You  look  as  if  you  wanted  some  fresh  air — if 
you'll  excuse  me  saying  so." 

"I  haven't  been  out  to-day,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"Don't  you  think  a  walk — just  a  breath — would 
do  you  good?" 

Without  allowing  herself  to  reflect,  she  answered: 

"Well,  I  ought  to  have  gone  out  long  ago  to  get 
some  food  for  to-morrow,  as  it's  Sunday.  Every- 
thing's been  so  neglected  to-day.  If  the  doctor  hap- 
pened to  order  a  cutlet  or  anything  for  Mrs.  Maldon, 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  do.  Truly  I  ought  to 
have  thought  of  it  earlier." 

She  seemed  to  be  blaming  herself  for  neglectful- 
ness,  and  thus  the  enterprise  of  going  out  had  the 
look  of  an  act  of  duty.  Her  sensations  bewildered 
her. 

"Perhaps  I  could  walk  down  with  you  and  carry 
parcels.  It's  a  good  thing  it's  Saturday  night,  or 
the  shops  might  have  been  closed." 

She  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  stood  up,  breath- 
ing quickly. 

"I'll  just  speak  to  Mrs.  Tarns." 

Creeping  up-stairs,  she  silently  pushed  open  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  bedroom.  The  invalid  was 
asleep.  Mrs.  Tarns,  her  hands  crossed  in  her  com- 
fortable lap,  and  her  mouth  widely  open,  was  also 
asleep.  But  Mrs.  Tarns  was  used  to  waking  with 
the  ease  of  a  dog.  Rachel  beckoned  her  to  the  door. 
Without  a  sound  the  fat  woman  crossed  the  room. 

"I'm  just  going  out  to  buy  a  few  things  we  want," 
said  Rachel  in  her  ear,  adding  no  word  as  to  Louis 
Fores. 

Mrs.  Tarns  nodded. 

158 


THE    CINEMA 

Rachel  went  to  her  bedroom,  turned  up  the  gas, 
straightened  her  hair,  and  put  on  her  black  hat,  and 
her  blue  jacket  trimmed  with  a  nameless  fur,  and 
picked  up  some  gloves  and  her  purse.  Before  de- 
scending she  gazed  at  herself  for  many  seconds  in 
the  small,  slanting  glass.  Coming  down-stairs,  she 
took  the  marketing  reticule  from  its  hook  in  the 
kitchen  passage.  Then  she  went  back  to  the  parlor 
and  stood  in  the  doorway,  speechless,  putting  on  her 
gloves  rapidly. 

"Ready?" 

She  nodded. 

"Shall  I?"  Louis  questioned,  indicating  the  gas. 

She  nodded  again,  and,  stretching  to  his  full 
height,  he  managed  to  turn  the  gas  down  without 
employing  a  footstool  as  Rachel  was  compelled  to  do. 

"Wait  a  moment,' '  she  whispered  in  the  hall,  when 
he  had  opened  the  front  door.  These  were  the  first 
words  she  had  been  able  to  utter.  She  went  to  the 
kitchen  for  a  latch-key.  Inserting  this  latch-key  in 
the  keyhole  on  the  outside,  and  letting  Louis  pass  in 
front  of  her,  she  closed  the  front  door  with  very 
careful  precautions  against  noise,  and  withdrew  the 
key. 

"I'll  take  charge  of  that  if  you  like,"  said  Louis, 
noticing  that  she  was  hesitating  where  to  bestow  it. 

She  gave  it  up  to  him  with  a  violent  thrill.  She 
was  intensely  happy  and  intensely  fearful.  She  was 
only  going  out  to  do  some  shopping;  but  the  door  was 
shut  behind  her,  and  at  her  side  was  this  magic, 
mysterious  being,  and  the  nocturnal  universe  lay 
around.  Only  twenty -four  hours  earlier  she  had 
shut  the  door  behind  her  and  gone  forth  to  find 
Louis.     And  now,  having  found  him,  he  and  she 

i59 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

were  going  forth  together  like  close  friends.  So 
much  had  happened  in  twenty-four  hours  that  the 
previous  night  seemed  to  be  months  away. 


ii 

Instead  of  turning  down  Friendly  Street  they 
kept  straight  along  the  lane  till,  becoming  sud- 
denly urban,  it  led  them  across  tram-lines  and  Turn- 
hill  Road,  and  so  through  a  gulf  or  inlet  of  the  Mar- 
ket-place behind  the  Shambles,  the  Police  Office,  and 
the  Town  Hall,  into  the  Market-place  itself,  which 
in  these  latter  years  was  recovering  a  little  of  the 
commercial  prestige  snatched  from  it  half  a  century 
earlier  by  St.  Luke's  Square.  Rats  now  marauded 
in  the  empty  shops  of  St.  Luke's  Square,  while  the 
Market-place  glittered  with  custom,  and  the  electric 
decoy  of  its  fagades  lit  up  strangely  the  lower  walls 
of  the  black  and  monstrous  Town  Hall. 

Innumerable  organized  activities  were  going  for- 
ward at  that  moment  in  the  serried  buildings  of  the 
endless  confused  streets  that  stretched  up  hill  and 
down  dale  from  one  end  of  the  Five  Towns  to  the 
other — theaters,  Empire  music-halls,  Hippodrome 
music-halls,  picture  -  palaces  in  dozens,  concerts, 
singsongs,  spiritualistic  propaganda,  democratic 
propaganda,  skating-rinks,  Wild  West  Exhibitions, 
Dutch  auctions,  and  the  private  seances  in  dubious 
quarters  of  "psychologists,"  " clairvoyants/ '  "scien- 
tific palmists,"  and  other  rascals  who  sold  a  fore- 
knowledge of  the  future  for  eighteenpence  or  even  a 
shilling.  Viewed  under  certain  aspects,  it  seemed 
indeed  that  the  Five  Towns,  in  the  week-end  de- 
sertion of  its  sordid  factories,  was  reaching  out  after 

1 60 


THE    CINEMA 

the  higher  life,  the  subtler  life,  the  more  elegant  life 
of  greater  communities;  but  the  little  crowds  and  the 
little  shops  of  Bursley  Market-place  were  neverthe- 
less a  proof  that  a  tolerable  number  of  people  were 
still  mainly  interested  in  the  primitive  elemental 
enterprise  of  keeping  stomachs  filled  and  skins  warm, 
and  had  no  thought  beyond  it.  In  Bursley  Market- 
place the  week's  labor  was  being  translated  into  food 
and  drink  and  clothing  by  experts  who  could  dis- 
tinguish infallibly  between  elevenpence  halfpenny 
and  a  shilling.  Rachel  was  such  an  expert.  She 
forced  her  thoughts  down  to  the  familiar,  sane,  safe 
subject  of  shopping,  though  to-night  her  errands 
were  of  the  simplest  description,  requiring  no  brains. 
But  she  could  not  hold  her  thoughts.  A  voice  was 
continually  whispering  to  her — not  Louis  Fores' 
voice,  but  a  voice  within  herself  that  she  had  never 
clearly  heard  before.  Alternately  she  scorned  it  and 
trembled  at  it. 

She  stopped  in  front  of  the  huge  window  of  Wason's 
Provision  Emporium. 

"Is  this  the  first  house  of  call?"  asked  Louis, 
airily,  swinging  the  reticule  and  his  stick  together. 

"Well— "  she  hesitated.  "Mrs.  Tarns  told  me 
they  were  selling  Singapore  pineapple  at  sevenpence 
halfpenny.  Mrs.  Maldon  fancies  pineapple.  I've 
known  her  fancy  a  bit  of  pineapple  when  she  wouldn't 
touch  anything  else.  .  .  .  Yes,  there  it  is!" 

In  fact,  the  whole  of  the  upper  half  of  Wason's 
window  was  yellow  with  tins  of  preserved  pineapple. 
And  great  tickets  said :  "Delicious  chunks,  7}4d.  per 
large  tin.     Chunks,  6}£d.  per  large  tin." 

Customers  in  ones  and  twos  kept  entering  and 
leaving  the  shop.  Rachel  moved  on  towards  the 
11  161 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

door,  which  was  at  the  corner  of  the  Cock  yard,  and 
looked  within.  The  long  double  counters  were  being 
assailed  by  a  surging  multitude  who  fought  for  the 
attention  of  prestidigitatory  salesmen. 

"Hm!"  murmured  Rachel,  "That  may  be  all  very 
well  for  Mrs.  Tarns.  .  .    " 

A  moment  later  she  said : 

"It's  always  like  that  with  Wason's  shops  for  the 
first  week  or  two!" 

And  her  faintly  sarcastic  tone  of  a  shrewd  house- 
wife immediately  set  Wason  in  his  place — Wason 
with  his  two  hundred  and  sixty-five  shops,  and  his 
racing-cars,  and  his  visits  to  kings  and  princes. 
Wason  had  emporia  all  over  the  kingdom,  and  in 
particular  at  Knype,  Hanbridge,  and  Longshaw. 
And  now  he  had  penetrated  to  Bursley,  sleepiest  of 
the  Five.  His  method  was  to  storm  a  place  by  means 
of  electricity,  full-page  advertisements  in  news- 
papers, the  power  of  his  mere  name,  and  a  leading 
line  or  so.  At  Bursley  his  leading  line  was  appar- 
ently "Singapore  Delicious  Chunks  at  7>^<i.  per  large 
tin."  Rachel  knew  Wason;  she  had  known  him  at 
Knype.  And  she  was  well  aware  that  his  specialty 
was  the  second  rate.  She  despised  him.  She  de- 
spised that  multitude  of  simpletons  who,  full  of  the 
ancient  illusion  that  somewhere  something  can 
regularly  be  had  for  nothing,  imagined  that  Wason's 
bacon  and  cheese  were  cheap  because  he  sold  pre- 
served pineapple  at  a  penny  less  than  anybody  else 
in  the  town.  And  she  despised  the  roaring  vulgar 
success  of  advertising  and  electricity.  She  had  in  her 
some  tincture  of  the  old  nineteenth  century,  which 
loved  the  decency  of  small,  quiet  things.  And  in 
the  prim  sanity  of  her  judgment  upon  Wason  she 

162 


Don't  ye  go  and  throw  yeself  away, 
r 


Keep  out  o' 


mischief. 


THE    CINEMA 

forgot  for  a  few  instants  that  she  was  in  a  dream, 
and  that  the  streets  and  the  whole  town  appeared 
strange  and  troubling  to  her,  and  that  she  scarcely 
knew  what  she  was  doing,  and  that  the  most  seduc- 
tive and  enchanting  of  created  men  was  at  her  side 
and  very  content  to  be  at  her  side.  And  also  the 
voice  within  her  was  hushed. 

She  said : 

"I  don't  see  the  fun  of  having  the  clothes  torn 
off  my  back  to  save  a  penny.  I  think  I  shall  go  to 
Malkin's.  I'll  get  some  cocoa  there,  too.  Mrs. 
Tarns  simply  lives  for  cocoa." 

And  Louis  archly  answered: 

"I've  always  wondered  what  Mrs.  Tarns  reminds 
me  of.  Now  I  know.  She's  exactly  like  a  cocoa-tin 
dented  in  the  middle." 

She  laughed  with  pleasure,  not  because  she  con- 
sidered the  remark  in  the  least  witty,  but  because 
it  was  so  characteristic  of  Louis  Fores.  She  wished 
humbly  that  she  could  say  things  just  like  that,  and 
with  caution  she  glanced  up  at  him. 

They  went  into  Ted  Malkin's  sober  shop,  where 
there  was  a  nice  handful  of  customers,  in  despite  of 
Wason  only  five  doors  away.  And  no  sooner  had 
Rachel  got  inside  than  she  was  in  the  dream  again, 
and  the  voice  resumed  its  monotonous  phrase,  and 
she  blushed.  The  swift  change  took  her  by  surprise 
and  frightened  her.  She  was  not  in  Bursley,  but  in 
some  forbidden  city  without  a  name,  pursuing  some 
adventure  at  once  shameful  and  delicious.  A  dis- 
tinct fear  seized  her.  Her  self-consciousness  was 
intense. 

And  there  was  young  Ted  Malkin  in  his  starched 
white  shirt-sleeves  and  white  apron  and  black  waist- 

163 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

coat  and  tie,  among  his  cheeses  and  flitches,  every- 
one of  which  he  had  personally  selected  and  judged, 
weighing  a  piece  of  cheddar  in  his  honorable  copper- 
and-brass  scales.  He  was  attending  to  two  little 
girls.  He  nodded  with  calm  benevolence  to  Rachel 
and  then  to  Louis  Fores.  It  is  true  that  he  lifted  his 
eyebrows — a  habit  of  his — at  sight  of  Fores,  but  he 
did  so  in  a  quite  simple,  friendly,  and  justifiable 
manner,  with  no  insinuations. 

"In  one  moment,  Miss  Fleckring,,,  said  he. 

And  as  he  rapidly  tied  up  the  parcel  of  cheese  and 
snapped  off  the  stout  string  with  a  skilled  jerk  of  the 
hand,  he  demanded,  calmly: 

"How's  Mrs.  Maldon  to-night ?" 

"Much  better,"  said  Rachel,  "thank  you." 

And  Louis  Fores  joined  easily  in : 

"You  may  say,  very  much  better." 

"That's  rare  good  news!  Rare  good  news!"  said 
Malkin.  "I  hear  you  had  an  anxious  night  of  it. 
...  Go  across  and  pay  at  the  other  counter,  my 
dears."  Then  he  called  out  loudly:  "One  and 
seven,  please." 

The  little  girls  tripped  importantly  away. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Rachel  agreed.  The  tale  of  the 
illness  then  was  spread  over  the  town!  She  was 
glad,  and  her  self-consciousness  somehow  decreased. 
She  now  fully  understood  the  wisdom  of  Mrs. 
Maldon  in  refusing  to  let  the  police  be  informed  of 
the  disappearance  of  the  money.  What  a  fever  in 
the  shops  of  Bursley — even  in  the  quiet  shop  of  Ted 
Malkin — if  the  full  story  got  abroad! 

"And  what  is  it  to  be  to-night,  Miss  Fleckring? 
These  aren't  quite  your  hours,  are  they?  But  I 
suppose  you've  been  very  upset." 

164 


THE    CINEMA 

"Oh,"  said  Rachel,  "I  only  want  a  large  tin  of 
Singapore  Delicious  Chunks,  please." 

But  if  she  had  announced  her  intention  of  spend- 
ing a  thousand  pounds  in  Ted  Malkin's  shop  she 
would  not  have  better  pleased  him.  He  beamed. 
He  desired  the  whole  shop  to  hear  that  order,  for 
it  was  the  vindication  of  honest,  modest  trading — 
of  his  father's  methods  and  his  own.  His  father, 
himself,  and  about  a  couple  of  other  tradesmen  had 
steadily  fought  the  fight  of  the  Market-place  against 
St.  Luke's  Square  in  the  day  of  its  glory,  and  more 
recently  against  the  powerfully  magnetic  large  shops 
at  Hanbridge,  and  they  had  not  been  defeated.  As 
for  Ted  Malkin,  he  was  now  beyond  doubt  the 
"best"  provision-dealer  and  grocer  in  the  town,  and 
had  drawn  ahead  even  of  "Holl's"  (as  it  was  still 
called),  the  one  good  historic  shop  left  in  Luke's 
Square.  The  onslaught  of  Wason  had  alarmed  him, 
though  he  had  pretended  to  ignore  it.  But  he  was 
delectably  reassured  by  this  heavenly  incident  of  the 
representative  of  one  of  his  most  distinguished  cus- 
tomers coming  into  the  shop  and  deliberately  choos- 
ing to  buy  preserved  pineapple  from  him  at  Sj4d. 
when  it  could  be  got  thirty  yards  away  for  7>£d. 
Rachel  read  his  thoughts  plainly.  She  knew  well 
enough  that  she  had  done  rather  a  fine  thing,  and 
her  demeanor  showed  it.  Ted  Malkin  enveloped  the 
tin  in  suitable  paper. 

"Sure  there's  nothing  else?" 

"Not  at  this  counter." 

He  gave  her  the  tin,  smiled,  and  as  he  turned  to 
the  next  waiting  customer,  called  out: 

"Singapore  Delicious,  eight  and  a  half  pence." 

It  was  rather  a  poor  affair,  that  tin — a  declension 

165 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

from  the  great  days  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  married  life, 
when  she  spent  freely,  knowing  naught  of  her  hus- 
band's income  except  that  it  was  large  and  elastic. 
In  those  days  she  would  buy  a  real  pineapple,  entire, 
once  every  three  weeks  or  so,  costing  five,  six,  seven, 
or  eight  shillings — a  gorgeous  and  spectacular  fruit. 
Now  she  might  have  pineapple  every  day  if  she 
chose,  but  it  was  not  quite  the  same  pineapple.  She 
affected  to  like  it,  she  did  like  it,  but  the  difference 
between  the  old  pineapple  and  the  new  was  the 
saddening  difference,  for  Mrs.  Maldon's  secret  heart, 
between  the  great  days  and  the  paltry  facile  con- 
venience of  the  twentieth  century. 

It  was  to  his  aunt,  who  presided  over  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  shop,  including  the  cash-desk,  that 
Ted  Malkin  proclaimed  in  a  loud  voice  the  amounts 
of  purchases  on  his  own  side.  Miss  Malkin  was  a 
virgin  of  fifty-eight  years'  standing,  with  definite 
and  unchangeable  ideas  on  every  subject  on  earth  or 
in  heaven  except  her  own  age.  As  Rachel,  followed 
by  Louis  Fores,  crossed  the  shop,  Miss  Malkin  looked 
at  them  and  closed  her  lips,  and  lowered  her  eyelids, 
and  the  upper  part  of  her  body  seemed  to  curve 
slightly,  with  the  sinuosity  of  a  serpent — a  strange, 
significant  movement,  sometimes  ill  described  as 
"bridling." 

The  total  effect  was  as  though  Miss  Malkin  had 
suddenly  clicked  the  shutters  down  on  all  the  win- 
dows of  her  soul  and  was  spying  at  Rachel  and 
Louis  Pores  through  a  tiny  concealed  orifice  in  the 
region  of  her  eye.  It  was  nothing  to  Miss  Malkin 
that  Rachel  on  that  night  of  all  nights  had  come  in 
to  buy  Singapore  Delicious  Chunks  at  8}4d.  It  was 
nothing  to  her  that  Mrs.   Maldon  had  had   "an 

166 


THE    CINEMA 

attack/ '  Miss  Malkin  merely  saw  Rachel  and  Fores 
gadding  about  the  town  together  of  a  Saturday  night 
while  Mrs.  Maldon  was  ill  in  bed.  And  she  regarded 
Ted's  benevolence  as  the  benevolence  of  a  simpleton. 
Between  Miss  Malkin's  taciturnity  and  the  voice 
within  her  Rachel  had  a  terrible  three  minutes.  She 
was  '  'sneaped  " ;  which  fortunately  made  her  red  hair 
angry,  so  that  she  could  keep  some  of  her  dignity. 
Louis  Fores  seemed  to  be  quite  unconscious  that  a 
fearful  scene  was  enacting  between  Miss  Malkin  and 
Rachel,  and  he  blandly  insisted  on  taking  the 
pineapple-tin  and  the  cocoa-tin  and  slipping  them 
into  the  reticule,  as  though  he  had  been  shopping 
with  Rachel  all  his  life  and  there  was  a  perfect 
understanding  between  them.  The  moral  effect  was 
very  bad.     Rachel  blushed  again. 

When  she  emerged  from  the  shop  she  had  the 
illusion  of  being  breathless,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
terrific  adventure  the  end  of  which  none  could  foresee. 
She  was  furious  against  Miss  Malkin  and  against 
herself.  Yet  she  indignantly  justified  herself.  Was 
not  Louis  Fores  Mrs.  Maldon's  nephew,  and  were 
not  he  and  she  doing  the  best  thing  they  could 
together  under  the  difficult  circumstances  of  the  old 
lady's  illness  ?  If  she  was  not  to  co-operate  with  the 
old  lady's  sole  relative  in  Bursley,  with  whom  was 
she  to  co-operate  ?  In  vain  such  justifications !  .  .  . 
She  murderously  hated  Miss  Malkin.  She  said  to 
herself,  without  meaning  it,  that  no  power  should 
induce  her  ever  to  enter  the  shop  again. 

And  she  thought:  "I  can't  possibly  go  into  another 
shop  to-night!  I  can't  possibly  do  it!  And  yet  I 
must.     Why  am  I  such  a  silly  baby?" 

As  they  walked  slowly  along  the  pavement  she 

167 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

was  in  the  wild  dream  anew,  and  Louis  Fores  was 
her  only  hope  and  reliance.  She  clung  to  him, 
though  not  with  her  arm.  She  seemed  to  know  him 
very  intimately,  and  still  he  was  more  enigmatic  to 
her  than  ever  he  had  been. 

As  for  Louis,  beneath  his  tranquil  mien  of  a  man 
of  experience  and  infinite  tact,  he  was  undergoing 
the  most  extraordinary  and  delightful  sensations, 
keener  even  than  those  which  had  thrilled  him  in 
Rachel's  kitchen  on  the  previous  evening.  The 
social  snob  in  him  had  somehow  suddenly  expired, 
and  he  felt  intensely  the  strange  charm  of  going 
shopping  of  a  Saturday  night  with  a  young  woman, 
and  making  a  little  purchase  here  and  a  little  pur- 
chase there,  and  thinking  about  halfpennies.  And 
in  his  fancy  he  built  a  small  house  to  which  he  and 
Rachel  would  shortly  return,  and  all  the  brilliant 
diversions,  of  bachelordom  seemed  tame  and  tedious 
compared  to  the  wondrous  existence  of  this  small 
house. 

"Now  I  have  to  go  to  Heath's  the  butcher's,"  said 
Rachel,  determined  at  all  costs  to  be  a  woman  and 
not  a  silly  baby.  After  that  plain  announcement  her 
cowardice  would  have  no  chance  to  invent  an  excuse 
for  not  going  into  another  shop. 

But  she  added : 

"And  that  'U  be  all" 

"I  know  Master  Bob  Heath.  Known  him  a  long 
time,"  said  Louis  Fores,  with  amusement  in  his 
•  voice,  as  though  to  imply  that  he  could  relate  strange 
and  titillating  matters  about  Heath  if  he  chose,  and 
indeed  that  he  was  a  mine  of  secret  lore  concerning 
the  citizens. 

The  fact  was  that  he  had  traveled  once  to  Woore 
168 


THE    CINEMA 

races  with  the  talkative  Heath,  and  that  Heath  had 
introduced  him  to  his  brother  Stanny  Heath,  a  local 
bookmaker  of  some  reputation,  from  whom  Louis 
had  won  five  pounds  ten  during  the  felicitous  day. 
Ever  afterwards  Bob  Heath  had  effusively  saluted 
Louis  on  every  possible  occasion,  and  had  indeed 
once  stopped  him  in  the  street  and  said:  "My  brother 
treated  you  all  right,  didn't  he?  Stanny's  a  true 
sport. ' '  And  Louis  had  to  be  effusive  also.  It  would 
never  do  to  be  cold  to  a  man  from  whose  brother 
you  had  won — and  received — five  pounds  ten  on  a 
race-course. 

So  that  when  Louis  followed  Rachel  into  Heath's 
shop  at  the  top  of  Duck  Bank  the  fat  and  happy 
Heath  gave  him  a  greeting  in  which  astonishment 
and  warm  regard  were  mingled.  The  shop  was 
empty  of  customers,  and  also  it  contained  little 
meat,  for  Heath's  was  not  exactly  a  Saturday-night 
trade.  Bob  Heath,  clothed  from  head  to  foot  in 
slightly  blood-stained  white,  stood  behind  one  hacked 
counter,  and  Mrs.  Heath,  similarly  attired,  and  rather 
stouter,  stood  behind  the  other;  and  each  possessed 
a  long  steel  which  hung  from  an  ample  loose  girdle. 

Heath,  a  man  of  forty,  had  a  salute  somewhat 
military  in  gesture,  though  conceived  in  a  softer, 
more  accommodating  spirit.  He  raised  his  chubby 
hand  to  his  forehead,  but  all  the  muscles  of  it  were 
lax  and  the  fingers  loosely  curved;  at  the  same  time 
he  drew  back  his  left  foot  and  kicked  up  the  heel  a 
few  inches.  Louis  amiably  responded.  Rachel  went 
direct  to  Mrs.  Heath,  a  woman  of  forty-five.  She 
had  never  before  seen  Heath  in  the  shop. 

"Doing  much  with  the  gees  lately,  Mr.  Fores?" 
Heath  inquired  in  a  cheerful,  discreet  tone, 

169 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Not  me!" 

"Well,  I  can't  say  I've  had  much  luck  myself, 
sir." 

The  conversation  was  begun  in  proper  form. 
Through  it  Louis  could  hear  Rachel  buying  a  cutlet, 
and  then  another  cutlet,  from  Mrs.  Heath,  and 
protesting  that  fivepence  was  a  good  price  and  all 
she  desired  to  pay  even  for  the  finest  cutlet  in  the 
shop.  And  then  Rachel  asked  about  sweetbreads. 
Heath's  voice  grew  more  and  more  confidential  and 
at  length,  after  a  brief  pause,  he  whispered: 

"Ye're  not  married,  are  ye,  sir?  Excuse  the 
liberty." 

It  was  a  whisper,  but  one  of  those  terrible  mis- 
calculated whispers  that  can  be  heard  for  miles 
around,  like  the  call  of  the  cuckoo.  Plainly  Heath 
was  not  aware  of  the  identity  of  Rachel  Fleckring. 
And  in  his  world,  which  was  by  no  means  the  world 
of  his  shop  and  his  wife,  it  was  incredible  that  a  man 
should  run  round  shopping  with  a  woman  on  a 
Saturday  night  unless  he  was  a  husband  on  un- 
escapable  duty. 

Louis  shook  his  head. 

Mrs.  Heath  called  out  in  severe  accents  which 
were  a  reproof  and  a  warning:  "Got  a  sweetbread, 
Robert?     It's  for  Mrs.  Maldon." 

The  clumsy  fool  understood  that  he  had  blundered. 

He  had  no  sweetbread — not  even  for  Mrs.  Maldon. 
The  cutlets  were  wrapped  in  newspaper,  and  Louis 
rather  self-consciously  opened  the  maw  of  the  reticule 
for  them. 

"No  offense,  I  hope,  sir,"  said  Heath  as  the  pair 
left  the  shop,  thus  aggravating  his  blunder.  Louis 
and    Rachel    crossed    Duck    Bank    in    constrained 

170 


THE    CINEMA 

silence.  Rachel  was  scarlet.  The  new  cinema  next 
to  the  new  Congregational  chapel  blazed  in  front  of 
them. 

"Wouldn't  care  to  look  in  here,  I  suppose,  would 
you?"  Louis  imperturbably  suggested. 

Rachel  did  not  reply. 

"Only  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so,"  said  Louis. 

Rachel  did  not  venture  to  glance  up  at  him.  She 
was  so  agitated  that  she  could  scarcely  speak. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  muttered. 

"Why  not?"  he  exquisitely  pleaded.  "It  will  do 
you  good." 

She  raised  her  head  and  saw  the  expression  of  his 
face,  so  charming,  so  provocative,  so  persuasive. 
The  voice  within  her  was  insistent,  but  she  would 
not  listen  to  it.  Nobody  had  ever  looked  at  her  as 
Louis  was  looking  at  her  then.  The  streets,  the 
town,  faded.  She  thought:  "Whatever  happens,  I 
cannot  withstand  that  face."  She  was  feverishly 
happy,  and  at  the  same  time  ravaged  by  both  pain 
and  fear.  She  became  a  fatalist.  And  she  aban- 
doned the  pretense  that  she  was  not  the  slave  of  that 
face.  Her  eyes  grew  candidly  acquiescent,  as  if  she 
were  murmuring  to  him,  "I  am  defenseless  against 
you." 

in 

It  was  not  surprising  that  Rachel,  who  never  in 
her  life  had  beheld  at  close  quarters  any  of  the 
phenomena  of  luxury,  should  blink  her  ingenuous 
eyes  at  the  blinding  splendor  of  the  antechambers  of 
the  Imperial  Cinema  de  Luxe.  Eyes  less  ingenuous 
than  hers  had  blinked  before  that  prodigious  dazzle- 
ment.     Even  Louis,  a  man  of  vast  experience  and 

171 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

sublime  imperturbability,  visiting  the  Imperial  on 
its  opening  night,  had  allowed  the  significant  words 
to  escape  him:  "Well,  I'm  blest!" — proof  enough  of 
the  triumph  of  the  Imperial! 

The  Imperial  had  set  out  to  be  the  most  gorgeous 
cinema  in  the  Five  Towns;  and  it  simply  was.  Its 
advertisements  read:  "There  is  always  room  at  the 
top."  There  was.  Over  the  ceiling  of  its  foyer 
enormous  crimson  peonies  expanded  like  tropic 
blooms,  and  the  heart  of  each  peony  was  a  sixteen- 
candle-power  electric  lamp.  No  other  two  cinemas 
in  the  Five  Towns,  it  was  reported,  consumed 
together  as  much  current  as  the  Imperial  de  Luxe; 
and  nobody  could  deny  that  the  degree  of  excellence 
of  a  cinema  is  finally  settled  by  its  consumption  of 
electricity. 

Rachel  now  understood  better  the  symbolic  mean- 
ing of  the  glare  in  the  sky  caused  at  night  by  the 
determination  of  the  Imperial  to  make  itself  known. 
She  had  been  brought  up  to  believe  that,  gas  being 
dear,  no  opportunity  should  be  lost  of  turning  a  jet 
down,  and  that  electricity  was  so  dear  as  to  be 
inconceivable  in  any  house  not  inhabited  by  crass 
spendthrift  folly.  She  now  saw  electricity  scattered 
about  as  though  it  were  as  cheap  as  salt.  She  saw 
written  in  electric  fire  across  the  inner  entrance  the 
beautiful  sentiment:  "Our  aim  is  to  please  you." 
The  "you"  had  two  lines  of  fire  under  it.  She  saw, 
also,  the  polite  nod  of  the  official,  dressed  not  less 
glitteringly  than  an  Admiral  of  the  Fleet  in  full 
uniform,  whose  sole  duty  in  life  was  to  welcome  and 
reassure  the  visitor.  All  this  in  Bursley,  which  even 
by  Knype  was  deemed  an  out-of-the-world  spot  and 
home  of  sordid  decay !    In  Hanbridge  she  would  have 

172 


THE    CINEMA 


been  less  surprised  to  discover  such  marvels,  because 
the  flaunting  modernity  of  Hanbridge  was  notorious. 
And  her  astonishment  would  have  been  milder  had 
she  had  the  habit  of  going  out  at  night.  Like  all 
those  who  never  went  out  at  night,  she  had  quite 
failed  to  keep  pace  with  the  advancing  stride  of  the 
Five  Towns  on  the  great  road  of  civilization. 

More  impressive  still  than  the  extreme  radiance 
about  her  was  the  easy  and  superb  gesture  of  Louis 
as,  swinging  the  reticule  containing  pineapple,  cocoa, 
and  cutlets,  he  slid  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and 
drew  therefrom  a  coin  and  smacked  it  on  the  wooden 
ledge  of  the  ticket-window — gesture  of  a  man  to 
whom  money  was  naught  provided  he  got  the  best 
of  everything.  "Two!"  he  repeated,  with  slight 
impatience,  bending  down  so  as  to  see  the  young 
woman  in  white  who  sat  in  another  world  behind 
gilt  bars.  He  was  paying  for  Rachel!  Exquisite 
experience  for  the  daughter  and  sister  of  Fleckrings ! 
Experience  unique  in  her  career!  And  it  seemed  so 
right  and  yet  so  wondrous,  that  he  should  pay  for 
her!  .  .  .  He  picked  up  the  change,  and  without  a 
glance  at  them  dropped  the  coins  into  his  pocket. 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  be  a  man!  But  was  it 
not  even  more  glorious  to  be  a  girl  and  the  object  of 
his  princely  care?  .  .  .  They  passed  a  heavy  draped 
curtain,  on  which  was  a  large  card,  ■  'Tea-Room/ ' 
and  there  seemed  to  be  celestial  social  possibilities 
behind  that  curtain,  though  indeed  it  bore  another 
and  smaller  card:  "Closed  after  six  o'clock" — the 
result  of  excessive  caution  on  the  part  of  a  kill-joy 
Town  Council.  A  boy  in  the  likeness  of  a  midship- 
man took  halves  of  the  curving  tickets  and  dropped 
them  into  a  tin  box,  and  then  next  Rachel  was  in  a 

i73 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

sudden  black  darkness,  studded  here  and  there  with 
minute  glowing  rubies  that  revealed  the  legend: 
"Exit.     Exit.     Exit." 

Row  after  row  of  dim,  pale,  intent  faces  became 
gradually  visible,  stretching  far  back  into  complete 
obscurity;  thousands,  tens  of  thousands  of  faces,  it 
seemed — for  the  Imperial  de  Luxe  was  demon- 
strating that  Saturday  night  its  claim  to  be  "the 
fashionable  rage  of  Bursley."  Then  mysterious 
laughter  rippled  in  the  gloom,  and  loud  guffaws  shot 
up  out  of  the  rippling.  Rachel  saw  nothing  what- 
ever to  originate  this  mirth  until  an  attendant  in 
black  with  a  tiny  white  apron  loomed  upon  them 
out  of  the  darkness  and,  beckoning  them  forward, 
bent  down,  and  indicated  two  empty  places  at  the 
end  of  a  row,  and  the  great  white  scintillating  screen 
of  the  cinema  came  into  view.  Instead  of  being  at 
the  extremity  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  the  audi- 
torium. And  as  Rachel  took  her  seat  she  saw  on  the 
screen — which  was  scarcely  a  dozen  feet  away — a 
man  kneeling  at  the  end  of  a  canal-lock,  and  sucking 
up  the  water  of  the  canal  through  a  hose-pipe;  and 
this  astoundingly  thirsty  man  drank  with  such 
rapidity  that  the  water,  with  huge  boats  floating  on 
it,  subsided  at  the  rate  of  about  a  foot  a  second,  and 
the  drinker  waxed  enormously  in  girth.  The  laugh- 
ter grew  uproarious.  Rachel  herself  gave  a  quick, 
uncontrolled,  joyous  laugh,  and  it  was  as  if  the  laugh 
had  been  drawn  out  of  her  violently,  unawares. 
Louis  Fores  also  laughed  very  heartily. 

"Cute  idea,  that!"  he  whispered. 

When  the  film  was  cut  off  Rachel  wanted  to  take 
back  her  laugh.  She  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  having 
laughed  at  anything  so  silly. 

174 


THE    CINEMA 

"How  absurd !"  she  murmured,  trying  to  be 
serious. 

Nevertheless  she  was  in  bliss.  She  surrendered 
herself  to  the  joy  of  life,  as  to  a  new  sensation.  She 
was  intoxicated,  ravished,  bewildered,  and  quite 
careless.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  her  adult 
existence  she  lived  without  reserve  or  preoccupation 
completely  in  and  for  the  moment.  Moreover  the 
hearty  laughter  of  Louis  Fores  helped  to  restore  her 
dignity.  If  the  spectacle  was  good  enough  for  him, 
with  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  to  laugh  at,  she 
need  not  blush  for  its  effect  on  herself.  And  in 
another  ten  seconds,  when  the  swollen  man  stagger- 
ing along  a  wide  thoroughfare  was  run  down  by  an 
automobile  and  squashed  flat  while  streams  of  water 
inundated  the  roadway,  she  burst  again  into  free 
laughter,  and  then  looked  round  at  Louis,  who  at 
the  same  instant  looked  round  at  her,  and  they 
exchanged  an  intimate  smiling  glance;  it  seemed  to 
Rachel  that  they  were  alone  and  solitary  in  the 
crowded  interior,  and  that  they  shared  exactly  the 
same  tastes  and  emotions  and  comprehended  one 
another  profoundly  and  utterly;  her  confidence  in 
him,  at  that  instant,  was  absolute,  and  enchanting 
to  her.  Half  a  minute  later  the  emaciated  man  was 
in  a  room  and  being  ecstatically  kissed  by  a  most 
beautiful  and  sweetly  shameless  girl  in  a  striped 
shirtwaist;  it  was  a  very  small  room,  and  the  furni- 
ture was  close  upon  the  couple,  giving  the  scene  an 
air  of  delightful  privacy.  And  then  the  scene  was 
blotted  out  and  gay  music  rose  lilting  from  some 
unseen  cave  in  front  of  the  screen. 

Rachel  was  rapturously  happy.  Gazing  along  the 
dim  rows  she  descried  many  young  couples,  without 

i75 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

recognizing  anybody  at  all,  and  most  of  these 
couples  were  absorbed  in  each  other,  and  some  of 
the  girls  seemed  so  elegant  and  alluring  in  the  dusk 
of  the  theater,  and  some  of  the  men  so  fine  in  their 
manliness!  And  the  ruby-studded  gloom  protected 
them  all,  including  Rachel  and  Louis,  from  the 
audience  at  large. 

The  screen  glowed  again.  And  as  it  did  so  Louis 
gave  a  start. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  "Fve  left  my  stick  somewhere. 
It  must  have  been  at  Heath's.  Yes,  it  was.  I  put 
it  on  the  counter  while  I  opened  this  net  thing. 
Don't  you  remember  ?  You  were  taking  some  money 
out  of  your  purse."  Louis  had  a  very  distinct 
vision  of  his  Rachel's  agreeable  gloved  fingers  primly 
unfastening  the  purse  and  choosing  a  shilling  from  it. 

"How  annoying!"  murmured  Rachel,  feelingly. 

"I  wouldn't  lose  that  stick  for  a  five-pound  note." 
(He  had  a  marvelous  way  of  saying  "five-pound 
note.")  "Would  you  mind  very  much  if  I  just  slip 
over  and  get  it,  before  he  shuts?  It's  only  across 
the  road,  you  know." 

There  was  something  in  the  politeness  of  the 
phrase  "mind  very  much"  that  was  irresistible  to 
Rachel.  It  caused  her  to  imagine  splendid  drawing- 
rooms  far  beyond  her  modest  level,  and  the  super- 
lative deportment  therein  of  the  well  born. 

"Not  at  all!"  she  replied,  with  her  best  affability. 
"But  will  they  let  you  come  in  again  without 
paying?" 

"Oh,  I'll  risk  that,"  he  whispered,  smiling  su- 
periorly. 

Then  he  went,  leaving  the  reticule,  and  she  was 
alone. 

176 


THE    CINEMA 

She  rearranged  the  reticule  on  the  seat  by  her  side. 
The  reticule  being  already  perfectly  secure,  there 
was  no  need  for  her  to  touch  it,  but  some  nervous 
movement  was  necessary  to  her.  Yet  she  was  less 
self-conscious  than  she  had  been  with  Louis  at  her 
elbow.  She  felt,  however,  a  very  slight  sense  of 
peril — of  the  unreality  of  the  plush  fauteuil  on  which 
she  sat,  and  those  rows  of  vaguely  discerned  faces 
on  her  right;  and  of  the  reality  of  distant  phenomena 
such  as  Mrs.  Maldon  in  bed.  Notwithstanding  her 
strange  and  ecstatic  experiences  with  Louis  Fores 
that  night  in  the  dark,  romantic  town,  the  problem 
of  the  lost  money  remained,  or  ought  to  have  re- 
mained, as  disturbing  as  ever.  To  ignore  it  was  not 
to  destroy  it.  She  sat  rather  tight  in  her  place, 
increasing  her  primness,  and  trying  to  show  by  her 
carriage  that  she  was  an  adult  in  full  control  of  all 
her  wise  faculties.  She  set  her  lips  to  judge  the  film 
with  the  cold  impartiality  of  middle  age,  but  they 
persisted  in  being  the  fresh,  responsive,  mobile  lips 
of  a  young  girl.  They  were  saying  noiselessly :  ' '  He 
will  be  back  in  a  moment.  And  he  will  find  me 
sitting  here  just  as  he  left  me.  When  I  hear  him 
coming  I  sha'n't  turn  my  head  to  look.  It  will  be 
better  not." 

The  film  showed  a  forest  with  a  wooden  house  in 
the  middle  of  it.  Out  of  this  house  came  a  most 
adorable  young  woman,  and  leapt  on  to  a  glossy 
horse  and  galloped  at  a  terrific  rate,  plunging  down 
ravines,  and  then  trotting  fast  over  the  crests  of 
clearings.  She  came  to  a  man  who  was  boiling  a 
kettle  over  a  camp-fire,  and  slipped  lithely  from  the 
horse,  and  the  man,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  seized 
her  pretty  waist  and  kissed  her  passionately,  in  the 

12  177 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

midst  of  the  immense  forest  whose  every  leaf  was 
moving.  And  she  returned  his  kiss  without  restraint. 
For  they  were  betrothed.  And  Rachel  imagined  the 
free  life  of  distant  forests,  where  love  was,  and  where 
slim  girls  rode  mettlesome  horses  more  easily  than 
the  girls  of  the  Five  Towns  rode  bicycles.  She  could 
not  even  ride  a  bicycle,  had  never  had  the  opportu- 
nity to  learn.  The  vision  of  emotional  pleasures 
that  in  her  narrow  existence  she  had  not  dreamt  of 
filled  her  with  mild,  delightful  sorrow.  She  could 
conceive  nothing  more  heavenly  than  to  embrace 
one's  true  love  in  the  recesses  of  a  forest.  .  .  .  Then 
came  crouching  Indians.  .  .  .  And  then  she  heard 
Louis  Fores  behind  her.  She  had  not  meant  to  turn 
round,  but  when  a  hand  was  put  heavily  on  her 
shoulder  she  turned  quickly,  resenting  the  contact. 

"I  should  like  a  word  with  ye,  if  ye  can  spare  a 
minute,  young  miss,"  whispered  a  voice  as  heavy  as 
the  hand.  It  was  old  Thomas  Batchgrew's  face  and 
whiskers  that  she  was  looking  up  at  in  the  gloom. 

As  if  fascinated,  she  followed  in  terror  those  flaunt- 
ing whiskers  up  the  slope  of  the  narrow  aisle  to  the 
back  of  the  auditorium.  Thomas  Batchgrew  seemed 
to  be  quite  at  home  in  the  theater;  he  wore  no  hat 
and  there  was  a  pen  behind  his  ear.  Never  would 
she  have  set  foot  inside  the  Imperial  de  Luxe  had  she 
guessed  that  Thomas  Batchgrew  was  concerned  in 
it.  She  thought  she  had  heard  once,  somewhere, 
that  he  had  to  do  with  cinemas  in  other  parts  of  the 
country,  but  it  would  not  have  occurred  to  her  to 
connect  him  with  a  picture-palace  so  near  home. 
She  was  not  alone  in  her  ignorance  of  the  councilor's 
share  in  the  Imperial.  Practically  nobody  had  heard 
of  it  until  that  night,  for  Batchgrew  had  come  into 

178 


THE    CINEMA 

the  new  enterprise  by  the  back  door  of  a  loan  to  its 
promoters,  who  were  richer  in  ideas  than  in  capital; 
and  now,  the  harvest  being  ripe,  he  was  arranging, 
by  methods  not  unfamiliar  to  capitalists,  to  reap 
where  he  had  not  sown. 

Shame  and  fear  overcame  Rachel.  The  crystal 
dream  was  shivered  to  dust.  Awful  apprehension, 
the  expectancy  of  frightful  events,  succeeded  to  it. 
She  perceived  that  since  the  very  moment  of  quitting 
the  house  the  dread  of  some  disaster  had  been  pur- 
suing her;  only  she  had  refused  to  see  it — she  had 
found  oblivion  from  it  in  the  new  and  agitatingly 
sweet  sensations  which  Louis  Fores  had  procured  for 
her.  But  now  the  real  was  definitely  sifted  out  from 
the  illusory.  And  nothing  but  her  own  daily  exist- 
ence, as  she  had  always  lived  it,  was  real.  The  rest 
was  a  snare.  There  were  no  forests,  no  passionate 
love,  no  flying  steeds,  no  splendid  adorers — for  her. 
She  was  Rachel  Fleckring  and  none  else. 

Councilor  Batchgrew  turned  to  the  left,  and 
through  a  small  hole  in  the  painted  wall  Rachel  saw 
a  bright  beam  shooting  out  in  the  shape  of  a  cone — 
forests,  and  the  unreal  denizens  of  forests  shimmering 
across  the  entire  auditorium  to  impinge  on  the  screen ! 
And  she  heard  the  steady  rattle  of  a  revolving  ma- 
chine. Then  Batchgrew  beckoned  her  into  a  very 
small  queerly  shaped  room  furnished  with  a  table 
and  a  chair  and  a  single  electric  lamp  that  hung  by 
a  cord  from  a  rough  hook  in  the  ceiling.  A  boy 
stood  near  the  door  holding  three  tin  boxes  one 
above  another  in  his  arms,  and  keeping  the  top  one 
in  position  with  his  chin.  These  boxes  were  similar 
to  that  in  which  Louis'  tickets  had  been  dropped. 

1  'Did  you  want  your  boxes,  sir?"  asked  the  boy. 

179 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Put  'em  down,"  Thomas  Batchgrew  growled. 

The  boy  deposited  them  in  haste  on  the  table  and 
hurried  out. 

"How  is  Mrs.  Maldon?"  demanded  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  with  curtness,  after  he  had  snorted  and  sniffed. 
He  remained  standing  near  to  Rachel. 

"Oh,  she's  very  much  better,"  said  Rachel,  eagerly. 
"She  was  asleep  when  I  left." 

"Have  ye  left  her  by  herself?"  Mr.  Batchgrew 
continued  his  inquiry.  His  voice  was  as  offensive  as 
thick  dark  glue. 

"Of  course  not!  Mrs.  Tarns  is  sitting  up  with 
her."  Rachel  meant  her  tone  to  be  a  dignified 
reproof  to  Thomas  Batchgrew  for  daring  to  assume 
even  the  possibility  of  her  having  left  Mrs.  Maldon 
to  solitude.  But  she  did  not  succeed,  because  she 
could  not  manage  her  tone.  She  desired  intensely 
to  be  the  self-possessed  mature  woman,  sure  of  her 
position  and  of  her  sagacity;  but  she  could  be  nothing 
save  the  absurd,  guilty,  stammering,  blushing  little 
girl,  shifting  her  feet  and  looking  everywhere  except 
boldly  into  Thomas  Batchgrew's  horrid  eyes. 

"So  it's  Mrs.  Tarns  as  is  sitting  with  her!" 

Rachel  could  not  help  explaining: 

"I  had  to  come  down-town  to  do  some  shopping 
for  Sunday.  Somebody  had  to  come.  Mr.  Fores 
had  called  in  to  ask  after  Mrs.  Maldon,  and  so 
he  walked  down  with  me."  Every  word  she 
said  appeared  intolerably  foolish  to  her  as  she 
uttered  it. 

"And  then  he  brought  ye  in  here!"  Batchgrew 
grimly  completed  the  tale. 

"We  came  in  here  for  ten  minutes  or  so,  as  I'd 
finished  my  shopping  so  quickly.     Mr.  Pores  has  just 

1 80 


THE    CINEMA 

run  across  to  the  butcher's  to  get  something  that  was 
forgotten. " 

Mr.  Batchgrew  coughed  loosely  and  loudly.  And 
beyond  the  cough,  beyond  the  confines  of  the  ugly 
little  room  which  imprisoned  her  so  close  to  old 
Batchgrew  and  his  grotesque  whiskers,  Rachel  could 
hear  the  harsh,  quick  laughter  of  the  audience,  and 
then  faint  music — far  off. 

"If  young  Fores  was  here,"  said  Mr.  Batchgrew 
brutally,  "I  should  tell  him  straight  as  he  might 
do  better  not  to  go  gallivanting  about  the  town  until 
that  there  money's  found." 

He  turned  towards  his  boxes. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Batchgrew," 
said  Rachel,  tapping  her  foot  and  trying  to  be  very 
dignified. 

"And  I'll  tell  ye  another  thing,  young  miss," 
Batchgrew  went  on.  "Every  minute  as  ye  spend 
with  young  Fores  ye'U  regret.  He's  a  bad  lot,  and 
ye  may  as  well  know  it  first  as  last.  Ye  ought  to 
thank  me  for  telling  of  ye,  but  ye  won't." 

"I  really  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Mr.  Batch- 
grew!"     She  could  not  invent  another  phrase. 

"Ye  know  what  I  mean  right  enough,  young 
miss!  ...  If  ye  only  came  in  for  ten  minutes  yer 
time's  up." 

Rachel  moved  to  leave. 

' 1  Hold  on !"  Batchgrew  stopped  her.  There  was 
a  change  in  his  voice. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  commanded,  but  with  the 
definite  order  was  mingled  some  trace  of  cajolery. 

She  obeyed,  quivering,  her  cheeks  the  color  of  a 
tomato.  In  spite  of  all  preoccupations,  she  dis- 
tinctly noticed — and  not  without  a  curious  tremor — 

181 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

that  his  features  had  taken  on  a  boyish  look.  In  the 
almost  senile  face  she  could  see  ambushed  the  face 
of  the  youth  that  Thomas  Batchgrew  had  been  per- 
haps half  a  century  before. 

"Ye're  a  fine  wench,' -  said  he,  with  a  note  of 
careless  but  genuine  admiration.  "I'll  not  deny  it. 
Don't  ye  go  and  throw  yeself  away.  Keep  out  o' 
mischief." 

Forgetting  all  but  the  last  phrase,  Rachel  marched 
out  of  the  room,  unspeakably  humiliated;  wounded 
beyond  any  expression  of  her  own.  The  cowardly, 
odious  brute!  The  horrible  ancient!  What  right 
had  he  ...  ?  What  had  she  done  that  was  wrong, 
that  would  not  bear  the  fullest  inquiry?  The  shop- 
ping was  an  absolute  necessity.  She  was  obliged  to 
come  out.  Mrs.  Maldon  was  better,  and  quietly 
sleeping.  Mrs.  Tarns  was  the  most  faithful  and 
capable  old  person  that  was  ever  born.  Hence  she 
was  justified  in  leaving  the  invalid.  Louis  Fores 
had  offered  to  go  with  her.  How  could  she  refuse 
the  offer?  What  reason  could  there  be  for  refusing 
it?  As  for  the  cinema,  who  could  object  to  the 
cinema?  Certainly  not  Thomas  Batchgrew!  There 
was  no  hurry.  And  was  she  not  an  independent 
woman,  earning  her  own  living?  Who  on  earth  had 
the  right  to  dictate  to  her?  She  was  not  a  slave. 
Even  a  servant  had  an  evening  out  once  a  week. 
She  was  sinless.  .  .  . 

And  yet  while  she  was  thus  ardently  defending 
herself  she  well  knew  that  she  had  sinned  against 
the  supreme  social  laws — the  law  of  "the  look  of 
things."  It  was  true  that  chance  had  worked  against 
her.  But  common  sense  would  have  rendered  ci  ice 
powerless  by  giving  it  no  opportunity  to  be  malevo- 

182 


THE    CINEMA 

lent.  She  was  furious  with  Rachel  Fleckring.  That 
Rachel  Fleckring,  of  all  mortal  girls,  should  have  ex- 
posed herself  to  so  dreadful,  so  unforgettable  a 
humiliation  was  mortifying  in  the  very  highest  de- 
gree. Her  lips  trembled.  She  was  about  to  burst 
into  a  sob.  But  at  this  moment  the  rattle  of  the 
revolving  machine  behind  the  hole  ceased,  the 
theater  blazed  from  end  to  end  with  sudden  light, 
the  music  resumed,  and  a  number  of  variegated  ad- 
vertisements were  weakly  thrown  on  the  screen. 
She  set  herself  doggedly  to  walk  back  down  the  slope 
of  the  aisle,  not  daring  to  look  ahead  for  Louis.  She 
felt  that  every  eye  was  fixed  on  her  with  base  curios- 
ity. .  .  .  When,  after  the  endless  ordeal  of  the  aisle, 
she  reached  her  place,  Louis  was  not  there.  And 
though  she  was  glad,  she  took  offense  at  his  delay. 
Gathering  up  the  reticule  with  a  nervous  sweep  of 
the  hand,  she  departed  from  the  theater,  her  eyes 
full  of  tears.  And  amid  all  the  wild  confusion  in  her 
brain  one  little  thought  flashed  clear  and  was  gone: 
the  wastefulness  of  paying  for  a  whole  night's  enter- 
tainment and  then  only  getting  ten  minutes  of  it! 


IV 

She  met  Louis  Fores  high  up  Bycars  Lane,  about 
a  hundred  yards  below  Mrs.  Maldon's  house.  She 
saw  some  one  come  out  of  the  gate  of  the  house,  and 
heard  the  gate  clang  in  the  distance.  For  a  moment 
she  could  not  surely  identify  the  figure,  but  as  soon 
as  Louis,  approaching,  and  carrying  his  stick,  grew 
unmistakable  even  in  the  darkness,  all  her  agitation, 
which  had  been  subsiding  under  the  influence  of 
physical  exercise,  rose  again  to  its  original  fever. 

■S3 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Ah!"  said  Louis,  greeting  her  with  a  most  defer- 
ential salute.  "There  you  are.  I  was  really  be- 
ginning to  wonder.  I  opened  the  front  door,  but 
there  was  no  light  and  no  sound,  so  I  shut  it  again 
and  came  back.     What  happened  to  you?" 

His  ingenuous  and  delightful  face,  so  confident, 
good-natured,  and  respectful,  had  exactly  the  same 
effect  on  her  as  before.  At  the  sight  of  it  Thomas 
Batchgrew's  vague  accusation  against  Louis  was  dis- 
missed utterly  as  the  rancorous  malice  of  an  evil  old 
man.  For  the  rest,  she  had  never  given  it  any  real 
credit,  having  an  immense  trust  in  her  own  judg- 
ment. But  she  had  no  intention  of  letting  Louis 
go  free.  As  she  had  been  put  in  the  wrong,  so  must 
he  be  put  in  the  wrong.  This  seemed  to  her  only 
just.  Besides,  was  he  not  wholly  to  blame?  Also 
she  remembered  with  strange  clearness  the  admira- 
tion in  the  mien  of  the  hated  Batchgrew,  and  the 
memory  gave  her  confidence. 

She  said  with  an  effort,  after  chilly  detachment: 

"I  couldn't  wait  in  the  cinema  alone  for  ever." 

He  was  perturbed. 

"But  I  assure  you,"  he  said,  nicely,  "I  was  as 
quick  as  ever  I  could  be.  Heath  had  put  my  stick 
in  his  back  parlor  to  keep  it  safe  for  me,  and  it  was 
quite  a  business  finding  it  again.  Why  didn't  you 
wait? ...  I  say,  I  hope  you  weren't  vexed  at  my  leav- 
ing you." 

"Of  course . I  wasn't  vexed,"  she  answered,  with 
heat.  "Didn't  I  tell  you  I  didn't  mind?  But  if 
you  want  to  know,  old  Batchgrew  came  along  while 
you  were  gone  and  insulted  me." 

"Insulted  you?   How?   What  was  he  doing  there?" 

"How  should  I  know  what  he  was  doing  there? 
184 


THE    CINEMA 

Better  ask  him  questions  like  that!  All  I  can  tell 
you  is  that  he  came  to  me  and  called  me  into  a  room 
at  the  back — and — and — told  me  I'd  no  business  to 
be  there,  nor  you,  either,  while  Mrs.  Maldon  was  ill 
in  bed." 

"Silly  old  fool!  I  hope  you  didn't  take  any  notice 
of  him." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  fine,  that  is!  It's  easy  for 
you  to  talk  like  that.  But — but — well,  I  suppose 
there's  nothing  more  to  be  said!"  She  moved  to  one 
side;  her  anger  was  rising.  She  knew  that  it  was 
rising.  She  was  determined  that  it  should  rise. 
She  did  not  care.  She  rather  enjoyed  the  excite- 
ment. She  smarted  under  her  recent  experience; 
she  was  deeply  miserable;  and  yet,  at  the  same 
time,  standing  there  close  to  Louis  in  the  rustling 
night,  she  was  exultant  as  she  certainly  had  never 
been  exultant  before. 

She  walked  forward  grimly.  Louis  turned  and 
followed  her. 

"I'm  most  frightfully  sorry,"  he  said. 

She  replied,  fiercely: 

"It  isn't  as  if  I  didn't  wait.  I  waited  in  the 
porch  I  don't  know  how  long.  Then  of  course  I 
came  home,  as  there  was  no  sign  of  you." 

"When  I  went  back  you  weren't  there;  it  must 
have  been  while  you  were  with  old  Batch;  so  I 
naturally  didn't  stay.  I  just  came  straight  up  here. 
I  was  afraid  you  were  vexed  because  I'd  left  you 
alone." 

"Well,  and  if  I  was!"  said  Rachel,  splendidly  con- 
tradicting herself.  "It's  not  a  very  nice  thing  for  a 
girl  to  be  left  alone  like  that — and  all  on  account  of  a 
stick."     There  was  a  break  in  her  voice. 

185 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Arrived  at  the  gate,  she  pushed  it  open. 

"Good  night,"  she  snapped.  "Please  don't  come 
in." 

And  within  the  gate  she  deliberately  stared  at 
him  with  an  unforgiving  gaze.  The  impartial  lamp- 
post lighted  the  scene. 

"Good  night,"  she  repeated  harshly.  She  was 
saying  to  herself:  "He  really  does  take  it  in  the 
most  beautiful  way.  I  could  do  anything  I  liked 
with  him." 

"Good  night,"  said  Louis,  with  strict  punctilio. 

When  she  got  to  the  top  of  the  steps  she  remem- 
bered that  Louis  had  the  latch-key.  He  was  gone. 
She  gave  a  wet  sob  and  impulsively  ran  down  the 
steps  and  opened  the  gate.  Louis  returned.  She 
tried  to  speak  and  could  not. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Louis.  "Of  course  you 
want  the  key." 

He  handed  her  the  key  with  a  gesture  that  dis- 
concertingly melted  the  rigor  of  all  her  limbs.  She 
snatched  at  it,  and  plunged  for  the  gate  just  as  the 
tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  in  a  shower.  The  noise 
of  the  gate  covered  a  fresh  sob.  She  did  not  look 
back.  Amid  all  her  quite  real  distress  she  was  proud 
and  happy — proud  because  she  was  old  enough  and 
independent  enough  and  audacious  enough  to  quar- 
rel with  her  lover,  and  happy  because  she  had  sudden- 
ly discovered  life.  And  the  soft  darkness  and  the 
wind,  and  the  faint  sky  reflections  of  distant  fur- 
nace fires,  and  the  sense  of  the  road  winding  upward, 
and  the  very  sense  of  the  black  mass  of  the  house  in 
front  of  her  (dimly  lighted  at  the  upper  floor)  all 
made  part  of  her  mysterious  happiness. 


VIII 

END   AND    BEGINNING 


MRS.  TAMS!"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  in  a  low, 
alarmed,  and  urgent  voice. 

The  gas  was  turned  down  in  the  bedroom,  and 
Mrs.  Maldon,  looking  from  her  bed  across  the  cham- 
ber, could  only  just  distinguish  the  stout,  vague. form 
of  the  charwoman  asleep  in  an  arm-chair.  The  light 
from  the  street-lamp  was  strong  enough  to  throw 
faint  shadows  of  the  window-frames  on  the  blinds. 
The  sleeper  did  not  stir. 

Mrs.  Maldon  summoned  again,  more  loudly: 

"Mrs.  Tarns!" 

And  Mrs.  Tarns,  starting  out  of  another  world, 
replied  with  deprecation: 

"Hey,  hey!"  as  if  saying:  "I  am  here.  I  am 
fully  awake  and  observant.     Please  remain  calm." 

Mrs.  Maldon  said,  agitatedly: 

"I've  just  heard  the  front  door  open.  I'm  sure 
whoever  it  was,  was  trying  not  to  make  a  noise. 
There!     Can't  you  hear  anything?" 

"That  I  canna'!"  said  Mrs.  Tarns. 

"No!"  Mrs.  Maldon  protested,  as  Mrs.  Tarns 
approached  the  gas  to  raise  it.  "Don't  touch  the 
gas.  If  anybody's  got  in,  let  them  think  we're 
asleep." 

l8V 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

The  mystery  of  the  vanished  money  and  the  fear 
of  assassins  seemed  suddenly  to  oppress  the  very 
air  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Maldon  was  leaning  on  one 
elbow  in  her  bed. 

Mrs.  Tarns  said  to  her  in  a  whisper: 

"I  mun  go  see." 

"Please  don't,"  Mrs.  Maldon  entreated. 

"I  mun  go  see,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns. 

She  was  afraid,  but  she  conceived  that  she  ought 
to  examine  the  house,  and  no  fear  could  have  stopped 
her  from  going  forth  into  the  zone  of  danger. 

The  next  moment  she  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  said 
in  her  ordinary  tone : 

"Bless  us!  I  shall  be  forgetting  the  nose  on  my 
face  next.     It's  Miss  Rachel  coming  in,  of  course." 

"Miss  Rachel  coming  in!"  repeated  Mrs.  Maldon. 
"Has  she  been  out?  I  was  not  aware.  She  said 
nothing — " 

"Her  came  up  a  bit  since,  and  said  her  had  to  do 
some  shopping." 

"Shopping!  At  this  time  of  night!"  murmured 
Mrs.  Maldon. 

Said  Mrs.  Tarns,  laconically: 

"To-morrow's  Sunday — and  pray  God  yell  fancy 
a  bite  o'  summat  tasty." 

While  the  two  old  women,  equalized  in  rank  by 
the  fact  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  illness,  by  the  sudden 
alarm,  and  by  the  darkness  of  the  room,  were  thus 
conversing,  sounds  came  from  the  pavement  through 
the  slightly  open  windows — voices,  and  the  squeak  of 
the  gate  roughly  pushed  open. 

"That's  Miss  Rachel  now,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns. 

"Then  who  was  it  came  in  before?"  Mrs.  Maldon 
demanded. 

188 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

There  was  the  tread  of  rapid  feet  on  the  stone 
steps,  and  then  the  gate  squeaked  again. 

Mrs.  Tarns  went  to  the  window  and  pulled  aside 
the  blind. 

-    "Ay !"  she  announced,  simply.     "It's  Miss  Rachel 
and  Mr.  Fores/ ' 

Mrs.  Maldon  caught  her  breath. 

"You  didn't  tell  me  she  was  out  with  Mr.  Fores,' ' 
said  Mrs.  Maldon,  stiffly  but  weakly. 
•    "It's  first  I  knew  of  it,"  Mrs.  Tarns  replied,  still 
spying  over  the  pavement.     "He's  given  her  th' 
key.     There!     He's  gone." 

Mrs.  Maldon  muttered : 

"The  key?    What  key?" 

"Th'  latch-key  belike." 

"I  must  speak  to  Miss  Rachel,"  breathed  Mrs. 
Maldon  in  a  voice  of  extreme  and  painful  appre- 
hension. 

The  front  door  closing  sent  a  vibration  through 
the  bedroom.  Mrs.  Tarns  hesitated  an  instant,  and 
then  raised  the  gas.  Mrs.  Maldon  lay  with  shut  eyes 
on  her  left  side  and  gave  no  sign  of  consciousness. 
Light  footsteps  could  be  heard  on  the  stairs. 

"I'll  go  see,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns. 

In  the  heart  of  the  aged  woman  exanimate  on  the 
bed,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  ageing  woman  whose 
stout,  coarse  arm  was  still  raised  to  the  gas-tap, 
were  the  same  sentiments  of  wonder,  envy,  and  pity, 
aroused  by  the  enigmatic  actions  of  a  younger  gen- 
eration going  its  perilous,  instinctive  ways  to  keep 
the  race  alive. 

Mrs.  Tarns  lighted  a  benzoline  hand-lamp  at  the 
gas,  and  silently  left  the  bedroom.  She  still  some- 
what feared  an  unlawful  invader,  but  the  arrival  of 

189 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Rachel  had  reassured  her.  Preceded  by  the  waving 
little  flame,  she  passed  Rachel's  door,  which  was 
closed,  and  went  down-stairs.  Every  mysterious 
room  on  the  ground  floor  was  in  order  and  empty. 
No  sign  of  an  invasion.  Through  the  window  of  the 
kitchen  she  saw  the  fresh  cutlets  under  a  wire  cover 
in  the  scullery;  and  on  the  kitchen  table  were  the 
tin  of  pineapple  and  the  tin  of  cocoa,  with  the 
reticule  near  by.  All  doors  that  ought  to  be  fastened 
were  fastened.  She  remounted  the  stairs  and  blew 
out  the  lamp  on  the  threshold  of  the  mistress's  bed- 
room. And  as  she  did  so  she  could  hear  Rachel 
winding  up  her  alarm-clock  in  quick  jerks,  and  the 
light  shone  bright  like  a  silver  rod  under  Rachel's 
door. 

"Her's  gone  reet  to  bed,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns,  softly, 
by  the  bedside  of  Mrs.  Maldon.  "Ye've  no  cause 
for  to  worrit  yerself.     I've  looked  over  th'  house." 

Mrs.  Maldon  was  fast  asleep. 

Mrs.  Tarns  lowered  the  gas  and  resumed  her  chair, 
and  the  street-lamp  once  more  threw  the  shadows  of 
the  window-frames  on  the  blinds. 


ii 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  had  been  appointed 
to  sleep  in  the  spare  room,  had  to  exist  under  the 
blight  of  Rachel's  chill  disapproval  because  she  had 
not  slept  in  the  spare  room — nor  in  any  bed  at  all. 
The  arrangement  had  been  that  Mrs.  Tarns  should 
retire  at  4  a.m.,  Rachel  taking  her  place  with  Mrs. 
Maldon.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  not  retired  at  4  a.m., 
because  Rachel  had  not  taken  her  place. 

As  a  fact,  Rachel  had  been  wakened  by  a  bang 

190 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

of  the  front  door,  at  10.30  a.m.  only.  Her  first 
glance  at  the  alarm-clock  on  her  dressing-table  was 
incredulous.  And  she  refused  absolutely  to  believe 
that  the  hour  was  so  late.  Yet  the  alarm-clock  was 
giving  its  usual  sturdy,  noisy  tick,  and  the  sun  was 
high.  Then  she  refused  to  believe  that  the  alarm 
had  gone  off,  and  in  order  to  remain  firm  in  her  belief 
she  refrained  from  any  testing  of  the  mechanism, 
which  might — indeed,  would — have  proved  that  the 
alarm  had  in  fact  gone  off.  It  became  with  her  an 
article  of  dogma  that  on  that  particular  morning,  of 
all  mornings,  the  very  reliable  alarm-clock  had  failed 
in  its  duty.  The  truth  was  that  she  had  lain  awake 
till  nearly  three  o'clock,  turning  from  side  to  side 
and  thinking  bitterly  upon  the  imperfections  of 
human  nature,  and  had  then  fallen  into  a  deep 
invigorating  sleep  from  which  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
alarm-clocks  might  not  have  roused  her. 

She  arose  full  of  health  and  anger,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  she  was  out  of  the  bedroom,  for  she  had 
not  fully  undressed;  like  many  women,  when  there 
was  watching  to  be  done,  she  loved  to  keep  her 
armor  on  and  to  feel  the  exciting  strain  of  the  unusual 
in  every  movement.  She  fell  on  Mrs.  Tarns  as  Mrs. 
Tarns  was  coming  up-stairs  after  letting  out  the 
doctor  and  refreshing  herself  with  cocoa  in  the 
kitchen.  A  careless  observer  might  have  thought 
from  their  respective  attitudes  that  it  was  Mrs. 
Tarns,  and  not  Rachel,  who  had  overslept  herself. 
Rachel  divided  the  blame  between  the  alarm-clock 
and  Mrs.  Tarns  for  not  wakening  her;  indeed,  she 
seemed  to  consider  herself  the  victim  of  a  con- 
spiracy between  Mrs.  Tarns  and  the  alarm-clock. 
She  explicitly  blamed  Mrs.  Tarns  for  allowing  the 

191 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

doctor  to  come  and  go  without  her  knowledge. 
Even  the  doctor  did  not  get  off  scot-free,  for  he 
ought  to  have  asked  for  Rachel  and  insisted  on 
seeing  her. 

She  examined  Mrs.  Tarns  about  the  invalid's 
health  as  a  lawyer  examines  a  hostile  witness.  And 
when  Mrs.  Tarns  said  that  the  invalid  had  slept,  and 
was  sleeping,  stertorously  in  an  unaccountable  man- 
ner, and  hinted  that  the  doctor  was  not  undisturbed 
by  the  new  symptom  and  meant  to  call  again  later 
on,  Rachel's  tight-lipped  mien  indicated  that  this 
might  not  have  occurred  if  only  Mrs.  Tarns  had 
fulfilled  her  obvious  duty  of  wakening  Rachel. 
Though  she  was  hungry,  she  scornfully  repulsed  the 
suggestion  of  breakfast.  Mrs.  Tarns,  thoroughly 
accustomed  to  such  behavior  in  the  mighty,  accepted 
it  as  she  accepted  the  weather.  But  if  she  had  had 
to  live  through  the  night  again — after  all,  a  quite 
tolerable  night — she  would  still  not  have  wakened 
Rachel  at  4  a.m. 

Rachel  softened  as  the  day  passed.  She  ate  a  good 
dinner  at  one  o'clock,  with  Mrs.  Tarns  in  the  kitchen, 
one  or  the  other  mounting  at  short  intervals  to  see 
if  Mrs.  Maldon  had  stirred.  Then  she  changed  into 
her  second-best  frock,  in  anticipation  of  the  doctor's 
Sunday  afternoon  visit;  strictly  commanded  Mrs. 
Tarns  (but  with  relenting  kindness  in  her  voice)  to 
go  and  lie  down;  and  established  herself  neatly  in 
the  sick-room. 

Though  her  breathing  had  become  noiseless  again, 
Mrs.  Maldon  still  slept.  She  had  wakened  only 
once  since  the  previous  night.  She  lay  calm  and 
dignified  in  slumber — an  old  and  devastated  woman, 
with  that   disconcerting  resemblance  to  a  corpse 

192 


E 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

shown  by  all  aged  people  asleep,  but  yet  with  little 
sign  of  positive  illness  save  the  slight  distortion  of 
her  features  caused  by  the  original  attack.  Rachel 
sat  idle,  prim,  in  vague  reflection,  at  intervals 
smoothing  her  petticoat,  or  giving  a  faint  cough,  or 
gazing  at  the  mild  blue  September  sky.  She  might 
have  been  reading  a  book,  but  she  was  not  by  choice 
a  reader.  She  had  the  rare  capacity  of  merely 
existing.  Her  thoughts  flitted  to  and  fro,  now  rest- 
ing on  Mrs.  Maldon  with  solemnity,  now  on  Mrs. 
Tarns  with  amused  benevolence,  now  on  old  Batch- 
grew  with  lofty  disgust,  and  now  on  Louis  Fores 
with  unquiet  curiosity  and  delicious  apprehension. 

She  gave  a  little  shudder  of  fright  and  instantly 
controlled  it — Mrs.  Maldon,  instead  of  being  asleep, 
was  looking  at  her.  She  rose  and  went  to  the  bed- 
side and  stood  over  the  sick  woman,  by  the  pillow, 
benignly,  asking  with  her  eyes  what  desire  of  the 
sufferer's  she  might  fulfil.  And  Mrs.  Maldon  looked 
up  at  her  with  another  benignity.  And  they  both 
smiled. 

"You've  slept  very  well,,,  said  Rachel,  softly. 

Mrs.  Maldon,  continuing  to  smile,  gave  a  scarcely 
perceptible  affirmative  movement  of  the  head. 

1  'Will  you  have  some  of  your  Revalenta?  I've 
only  got  to  warm  it,  here.     Everything's  ready.' ' 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon, 
in  a  firm,  matter-of-fact  voice. 

The  doctor  had  left  word  that  food  was  not  to 
be  forced  on  her. 

"Do  you  feel  better?" 

Mrs.  Maldon  answered,  in  a  peculiar  tone: 

' '  My  dear,  I  shall  never  feel  any  better  than  I  do 
now." 

13  193 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  talk  like  that!"  said  Rachel  in 
gay  protest. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Rachel,"  said  Mrs.  Mal- 
don,  once  more  reassuringly  matter-of-fact.  "Sit 
down  there." 

Rachel  obediently  perched  herself  on  the  bed,  and 
bent  her  head.  And  her  face,  which  was  now  much 
closer  to  Mrs.  Maldon's,  expressed  the  gravity  which 
Mrs.  Maldon  would  wish,  and  also  the  affectionate 
condescension  of  youth  towards  age,  and  of  health 
towards  infirmity.  And  as  almost  unconsciously  she 
exulted  in  her  own  youth,  and  strength,  delicate  little 
poignards  of  tragic  grief  for  Mrs.  Maldon's  helpless 
and  withered  senility  seemed  to  stab  through  that 
personal  pride.  The  shiny,  veined  right  hand  of 
the  old  woman  emerged  from  under  the  bedclothes 
and  closed  with  hot,  fragile  grasp  on  Rachel's  hand. 

Within  the  impeccable  orderliness  of  the  bedroom 
was  silence ;  and  beyond  was  the  vast  Sunday  after- 
noon silence  of  the  district,  producing  the  sensation 
of  surcease,  recreating  the  impressive  illusion  of 
religion  even  out  of  the  brutish  irreligion  that  was 
bewailed  from  pulpits  to  empty  pews  in  all  the  tem- 
ples of  all  the  Five  Towns.  Only  the  smoke  waving 
slowly  through  the  clean- washed  sky  from  a  few  high 
chimneys  over  miles  of  deserted  manufactories  made 
a  link  between  Saturday  and  Monday. 

"I've  something  I  want  to  say  to  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Maldon,  in  that  deceptive  matter-of-fact  voice.  "I 
wanted  to  tell  you  yesterday  afternoon,  but  I 
couldn't.  And  then  again  last  night,  but  I  went  off 
to  sleep." 

"Yes?"  murmured  Rachel,  duped  by  Mrs.  Mal- 
don's  manner  into  perfect  security.     She  was  think- 

194 


END    AND    BEGINNING 


ing:  "What's  the  poor  old  thing  got  into  her  head 
now?     Is  it  something  fresh  about  the  money ?" 

"It's  about  yourself,' '  said  Mrs.  Maldon, 

Rachel  exclaimed,  impulsively: 

"What  about  me?" 

She  could  feel  a  faint  vibration  in  Mrs.  Maldon's 
hand. 

"I  want  you  not  to  see  so  much  of  Louis." 

Rachel  was  shocked  and  insulted.  She  straight- 
ened her  spine  and  threw  back  her  head  sharply. 
But  she  dared  not  by  force  withdraw  her  hand  from 
Mrs.  Maldon's.  Moreover,  Mrs.  Maldon's  clasp 
tightened  almost  convulsively. 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Batchgrew's  been  up  here  telling 
tales  while  I  was  asleep,"  Rachel  expostulated,  hot- 
ly, and  her  demeanor  was  at  once  pouting,  sulky, 
and  righteously  offended. 

Mrs.  Maldon  was  puzzled. 

"This  morning,  do  you  mean,  dear?"  she  asked. 

Tears  stood  in  Rachel's  eyes.  She  could  not 
speak,  but  she  nodded  her  head.  And  then  another 
sentence  burst  from  her  full  breast:  "And  you  told 
Mrs.  Tarns  she  wasn't  to  tell  me  Mr.  Batchgrew'd 
called!" 

"I've  not  seen  or  heard  anything  of  Mr.  Batch- 
grew,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon.  "But  I  did  hear  you  and 
Louis  talking  outside  last  night." 

The  information  startled  Rachel. 

"Well,  and  what  if  you  did,  Mrs.  Maldon?"  she 
defended  herself.  Her  foot  tapped  on  the  floor. 
She  was  obliged  to  defend  herself,  and  with  care. 
Mrs.  Maldon's  tranquillity,  self-control,  immense  age 
and  experience,  superior  deportment,  extreme  weak- 
ness, and  the  respect  which  she  inspired,  compelled 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

the  girl  to  intrench  warily,  instead  of  carrying  off 
the  scene  in  one  stormy  outburst  of  resentment  as 
theoretically  she  might  have  done. 

Mrs.  Maldon  said,  cajolingly,  flatteringly: 
' '  My  dear,  do  be  your  sensible  self  and  listen  to  me. ' ' 
It  then  occurred  to  Rachel  that  during  the  last 
day  or  so  (the  period  seemed  infinitely  longer)  she 
had  been  losing,  not  her  common  sense,  but  her  im- 
mediate command  of  that  faculty,  of  which  she  was, 
privately,  very  proud.  And  she  braced  her  being, 
reaching  up  towards  heriown  conception  of  herself, 
towards  the  old  invulnerable  Rachel  Louisa  Fleck- 
ring.  At  any  cost  she  must  keep  her  reputation  for 
common  sense  with  Mrs.  Maldon. 

And  so  she  set  a  watch  on  her  gestures,  and  mod- 
erated her  voice,  secretly  yielding  to  the  benevolence 
of  the  old  lady,  and  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  wise  and 
kind  woman  of  the  world  and  an  incarnation  of 
profound  sagacity: 

"What  do  I  see  of  Mr.  Fores,  Mrs.  Maldon?  I 
see  nothing  of  Mr.  Fores,  or  hardly.  I'm  your  lady 
help,  and  he's  your  nephew — at  least  he's  your  great- 
nephew,  and  it's  your  house  he  comes  to.  I  can't 
help  being  in  the  house,  can  I?  If  you're  thinking 
about  last  night,  well,  Mr.  Fores  called  to  see  how 
you  were  getting  on,  and  I  was  just  going  out  to  do 
some  shopping.  He  walked  down  with  me.  I  sup- 
pose I  needn't  tell  you  I  didn't  ask  him  to  walk  down 
with  me.  He  asked  me.  I  couldn't  hardly  say  no, 
could  I  ?  And  there  were  some  parcels  and  he  walked 
back  with  me." 

She  felt  so  wise  and  so  clever  and  the  narrative 
seemed  so  entirely  natural,  proper,  and  inevitable 
that  §h§  W3£  tempted  to  continue; 

196 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

"And  supposing  we  did  go  into  a  cinematograph 
for  a  minute  or  two — what  then?" 

But  she  had  no  courage  for  the  confession.  As  a 
wise  woman  she  perceived  the  advisability  of  letting 
well  alone.  Moreover,  she  hated  confessions,  re- 
morse, and  gnashing  of  teeth. 

And  Mrs.  Maldon  regarded  her  worldly  and  ma- 
ture air,  with  its  touch  of  polite  condescension,  as 
both  comic  and  tragic;  and  thought  sadly  of  all  the 
girl  would  have  to  go  through  before  the  air  of  ma- 
ture worldliness  which  she  was  now  affecting  could 
become  natural  to  her. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  "I  have  perfect 
confidence  in  you."  It  was  not  quite  true,  because 
Rachel's  protest  as  to  Mr.  Batchgrew,  seeming  to 
point  to  strange  concealed  incidents,  had  most  cer- 
tainly impaired  the  perfection  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  con- 
fidence in  Rachel. 

Rachel  considered  that  she  ought  to  pursue  her 
advantage,  and  in  a  voice  light  and  yet  firm,  good- 
natured  and  yet  restive,  she  said: 

"I  really  don't  think  anybody  has  the  right  to 
talk  to  me  about  Mr.  Fores.  .  .  .  No,  truly  I 
don't!" 

"You  mustn't  misunderstand  me,  Rachel,"  Mrs. 
Maldon  replied,  and  her  other  hand  crept  out,  and 
stroked  Rachel's  captive  hand.  "I  am  only  saying 
to  you  what  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you — or  to  any 
other  young  woman  that  comes  to  live  in  my  house. 
You're  a  young  woman,  and  Louis  is  a  young  man. 
I'm  making  no  complaint.  But  it's  my  duty  to  warn 
you  against  my  nephew." 

"But,  Mrs.  Maldon,  I  didn't  know  either  him  or 
you  a  month  ago !" 

197 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Mrs.  Maldon,  ignoring  the  interruption,  proceeded 
quietly : 

"My  nephew  is  not  to  be  trusted.' ' 

Her  aged  face  slowly  flushed  as  in  that  single  brief 
sentence  she  overthrew  the  grand  principle  of  a  life- 
time. She  who  never  spoke  ill  of  anybody  had 
spoken  ill  of  one  of  her  own  family. 

"But— "  Rachel  stopped.  She  was  frightened 
by  the  appearance  of  the  flush  on  those  devastated 
yellow  cheeks,  and  by  a  quiver  in  the  feeble  voice  and 
in  the  clasping  hand.  She  could  divine  the  ordeal 
which  Mrs.  Maldon  had  set  herself  and  through 
which  she  had  passed.  Mrs.  Maldon  carried  con- 
viction, and  in  so  doing  she  inspired  awe.  And  on 
the  top  of  all  Rachel  felt  profoundly  and  exquisitely 
flattered  by  the  immolation  of  Mrs.  Maldon's 
pride. 

"The  money — it  has  something  to  do  with  that!" 
thought  Rachel. 

"My  nephew  is  not  to  be  trusted/'  said  Mrs. 
Maldon  again.  "I  know  all  his  good  points.  But 
the  woman  who  married  him  would  suffer  horribly 
— horribly!" 

"I'm  so  sorry  you've  had  to  say  this,"  said 
Rachel,  very  kindly.  "But  I  assure  you  that  there's 
nothing  at  all,  nothing  whatever,  between  Mr.  Fores 
and  me."  And  in  that  instant  she  genuinely  be- 
lieved that  there  was  not.  She  accepted  Mrs.  Mal- 
don's estimate  of  Louis.  And  further,  and  perhaps 
illogically,  she  had  the  feeling  of  having  escaped  from 
a  fatal  danger.  She  expected  Mrs.  Maldon  to  agree 
eagerly  that  there  was  nothing  between  herself  and 
Louis,  and  to  reiterate  her  perfect  confidence.  But, 
instead,  Mrs.  Maldon,  apparently  treating  Rachel's 

198 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

assurance  as  negligible,  continued  with  an  added 
solemnity : 

"I  shall  only  live  a  little  while  longer — a  very  little 
while/ '  The  contrast  between  this  and  her  buoyant 
announcement  on  the  previous  day  that  she  was  not 
going  to  die  just  yet,  was  highly  disturbing,  but 
Rachel  could  not  protest  or  even  speak.  "A  very 
little  while !"  repeated  Mrs.  Maldon,  reflectively. 
"I've  not  known  you  long — as  you  say — Rachel. 
But  I've  never  seen  a  girl  I  liked  more,  if  you  don't 
mind  me  telling  you.  I've  never  seen  a  girl  I  thought 
better  of.  And  I  don't  think  I  could  die  in  peace 
if  I  thought  Louis  was  going  to  cause  you  any 
trouble  after  I'm  gone.  No,  I  couldn't  die  in  peace 
if  I  thought  that." 

And  Rachel,  intimately  moved,  thought:  "She  has 
saved  me  from  something  dreadful!"  (Without  try- 
ing to  realize  precisely  from  what.)  "How  splendid 
she  is!" 

And  she  cast  out  from  her  mind  all  the  multi- 
tudinous images  of  Louis  Fores  that  were  there. 
And,  full  of  affection,  and  flattered  pride  and  grati- 
tude and  child-like  admiration,  she  bent  down  and 
rewarded  the  old  woman  who  had  so  confided  in  her 
— with  a  priceless  girlish  kiss.  And  she  had  the 
sensation  of  beginning  a  new  life. 


in 

And  yet,  a  few  moments  later,  when  Mrs.  Maldon 
faintly  murmured,  "Some  one  at  the  front  door," 
Rachel  grew  at  once  uneasy,  and  the  new  life  seemed 
an  illusion — either  too  fine  to  be  true,  or  too  leaden 
to  be  desired;  and  she  was  swaying  amid  uncertain- 

199 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

ties.  Perhaps  Louis  was  at  the  front  door.  He  had 
not  yet  called;  but  surely  he  was  bound  to  call  some 
time  during  the  day !  Of  the  dozen  different  Rachels 
in  Rachel,  one  adventurously  hoped  that  he  would 
come,  and  another  feared  that  he  would  come;  one 
ruled  him  sharply  out  of  the  catalogue  of  right- 
minded  persons,  and  another  was  ready  passionately 
to  defend  him. 

1  'I  think  not,"  said  Rachel. 

"Yes,  dear;  I  heard  some  one,"  Mrs.  Maldon 
insisted. 

Mrs.  Maldon,  long  practised  in  reconstructing  the 
life  of  the  street  from  trifling  hints  of  sound  heard 
in  bed,  was  not  mistaken.  Rachel,  opening  the  door 
of  the  bedroom,  caught  the  last  tinkling  of  the  front- 
door bell  below.  On  the  other  side  of  the  front  door 
somebody  was  standing — Louis  Fores,  or  another! 
N  "It  may  be  the  doctor,"  said  she,  brightly,  as 
she  left  the  bedroom.  The  coward  in  her  wanted 
it  to  be  the  doctor.  But,  descending  the  stairs,  she 
could  see  plainly  through  the  glass  that  Louis  him- 
self was  at  the  front  door.  The  Rachel  that  feared 
was  instantly  uppermost  in  her.  She  was  conscious 
of  dread.  From  the  breathless  sinking  within  her 
bosom  the  stairs  might  have  been  the  deck  of  a 
steamer  pitching  in  a  heavy  sea. 

She  thought: 

"Here  is  the  Louis  to  whom  I  am  indifferent. 
There  is  nothing  between  us,  really.  But  shall  I 
have  strength  to  open  the  door  to  him?" 

She  opened  the  door,  with  the  feeling  that  the  act 
was  tremendous  and  irrevocable. 

The  street,  in  the  Sabbatic  sunshine,  was  as  calm 
as  at  midnight.     Louis  Fores,  stiff  and  constrained, 

200 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

stood  strangely  against  the  background  of  it.  The 
unusualness  of  his  demeanor,  which  was  plain  to  the 
merest  glance,  increased  Rachel's  agitation.  It  ap- 
peared to  Rachel  that  the  two  of  them  faced  each 
other  like  wary  enemies.  She  tried  to  examine  his 
face  in  the  light  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  warning,  as  though 
it  were  the  face  of  a  stranger;  but  without  much 
success. 

"Is  auntie  well  enough  for  me  to  see  her?"  asked 
Louis,  without  greeting  or  preliminary  of  any  sort. 
His  voice  was  imperfectly  under  control. 

Rachel  replied  curtly: 

"I  dare  say  she  is." 

To  herself  she  said : 

"Of  course  if  he's  going  to  sulk  about  last  night — 
well,  he  must  sulk.  Really  and  truly  he  got  much 
less  than  he  deserved.  He  had  no  business  at  all  to 
have  suggested  me  going  to  the  cinematograph  with 
him.  The  longer  he  sulks  the  better  I  shall  be 
pleased." 

And  in  fact  she  was  relieved  at  his  sullenness. 
She  tossed  her  proud  head,  but  with  primness.  And 
she  fervently  credited,  to  the  full,  Mrs.  Maldon's 
solemn  insinuations  against  the  disturber. 

Louis  hesitated  a  second;  then  stepped  in.  Rachel 
marched  processionally  up-stairs,  and  with  the  de- 
tachment of  a  footman  announced  to  Mrs.  Maldon 
that  Mr.  Pores  waited  below.  "Oh,  please  bring 
him  up,"  said  Mrs.  Maldon,  with  a  mild  and  casual 
benevolence  that  surprised  the  girl;  for  Rachel,  in 
the  righteous  ferocity  of  her  years,  vaguely  thought 
that  an  adverse  moral  verdict  ought  to  be  swiftly 
followed  by  something  in  the  nature  of  annihilation. 

"Will  you  please  come  up,"  she  invited  Louis, 
201 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

from  the  head  of  the  stairs,  adding  privately:  "I 
can  be  as  stiff  as  you  can — and  stiffer.  How  mis- 
taken I  was  in  you." 

She  preceded  him  into  the  bedroom,  and  then  with 
ostentatious  formality  left  aunt  and  nephew  together. 
Nobody  should  ever  say  any  more  that  she  encour- 
aged the  attention  of  Louis  Fores. 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear?"  Mrs.  Maldon  in- 
quired from  her  bed,  perceiving  the  signs  of  emotion 
on  Louis'  face. 

"Has  Mr.  Batchgrew  been  here  yet?"  Louis  de- 
manded. 

1 '  No.     Is  he  coming  ?' ' 

"Yes,  he's  just  been  to  my  digs.  Came  in  his 
car.  Auntie,  do  you  know  that  he's  accusing  me  of 
stealing  your  money — and — and — all  sorts  of  things ! 
I  don't  want  to  hide  anything  from  you.  It's  true 
I  was  with  Rachel  at  the  cinematograph  last  night, 
but—" 

Mrs.  Maldon  raised  her  enfeebled,  shaking  hand. 

"Louis!"  she  entreated.  His  troubled,  ingenuous 
face  seemed  to  torture  her. 

"I  know  it's  a  shame  to  bother  you,  auntie.  But 
what  was  I  to  do?  He's  coming  up  here.  I  only 
want  to  tell  you  I've  not  got  your  money.  I've  not 
stolen  it.  I'm  absolutely  innocent — absolutely.  And 
I'll  swear  it  on  anything  you  like."  His  voice  almost 
broke  under  the  strain  of  its  own  earnestness.  His 
plaintive  eyes  invoked  justice  and  protection.  Who 
could  have  doubted  that  he  was  sincere  in  this 
passionate,  wistful  protestation  of  innocence? 

"Louis!"  Mrs.  Maldon  entreated  again,  commit- 
ting herself  to  naught,  taking  no  side,  but  finding 
shelter  beneath  the  enigmatic  appealing  repetition 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

of  his  name.     It  was  the  final  triumph  of  age  over 
crude  youth.     ' '  Louis !'  ■ 


IV 

Rachel  stood  expectant  and  watchful  in  the 
kitchen.  She  was  now  filled  with  dread.  She 
wanted  to  go  up  and  waken  Mrs.  Tarns,  but  was  too 
proud.  The  thought  had  come  into  her  mind:  "His 
coming  like  this  has  something  to  do  with  the 
money.  Perhaps  he  wasn't  sulking  with  me,  after 
all.  Perhaps  .  .  ."  But  what  it  was  that  she 
dreaded  she  could  not  have  defined.  And  then  she 
caught  the  sound  of  an  approaching  automobile. 
The  car  threw  its  shadow  across  the  glazed  front 
door,  which  she  commanded  from  the  kitchen,  and 
stopped.  And  the  front-door  bell  rang  uncannily 
over  her  head.  She  opened  the  door  to  Councilor 
Batchgrew,  whose  breathing  was  irregular  and  rapid. 

"Has  Louis  Fores  been  here?"  Batchgrew  asked. 

"He's  up-stairs  now  with  Mrs.  Maldon." 

Without  warning,  Thomas  Batchgrew  strode  into 
the  house  and  straight  up-stairs.  His  long  whiskers 
sailed  round  the  turn  of  the  stairs  and  disappeared. 
Rachel  was  somewhat  discomfited,  and  very  resent- 
ful. But  her  dread  was  not  thereby  diminished. 
"They'll  kill  the  old  lady  between  them  if  they  don't 
take  care,"  she  thought. 

The  next  instant  Louis  appeared  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs.  With  astounding  celerity  Rachel  slipped 
into  the  parlor.  She  could  not  bear  to  encounter 
him  in  the  lobby — it  was  too  narrow.  She  heard 
Louis  come  down  the  stairs,  saw  him  take  his  straw 
hat  from  the  oak  chest  and  heard  him  open  the 

203 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

front  gate.  In  the  lobby  he  had  looked  neither  to 
right  nor  left.  "How  do,  Ernest?"  she  heard  him 
greet  the  amateur  chauffeur-in-chief  of  the  Batchgrew 
family.  His  footfalls  on  the  pavement  died  away 
into  the  general  silence  of  the  street.  Overhead  she 
could  hear  old  Batchgrew  walking  to  and  fro.  With- 
out reflection  she  went  up-stairs  and  hovered  near  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  bedroom.  She  said  to  her- 
self that  she  was  not  eavesdropping.  She  listened, 
while  pretending  not  to  listen,  but  there  was  no  sign 
of  conversation  within  the  room.  And  then  she  very 
distinctly  heard  old  Batchgrew  exclaim : 

"And  they  go  gallivanting  off  together  to  the 
cinema !" 

Upon  which  ensued  another  silence. 

Rachel  flushed  with  shame,  fury,  and  apprehen- 
sion. She  hated  Batchgrew,  and  Louis,  and  all 
gross  masculine  invaders. 

The  mysterious  silence  within  the  room  persisted. 
And  then  old  Batchgrew  violently  opened  the  door 
and  glared  at  Rachel.  He  showed  no  surprise  at 
seeing  her  there  on  the  landing. 

"Ye'd  better  keep  an  eye  on  missis,"  he  said, 
gruffly.     "She's  gone  to  sleep,  seemingly." 

And  with  no  other  word  he  departed. 

Before  the  car  had  given  its  warning  hoot  Rachel 
was  at  Mrs.  Maldon's  side.  The  old  lady  lay  in  all 
tranquillity  on  her  left  arm.  She  was  indeed  asleep, 
or  she  was  in  a  stupor,  and  the  peculiar  stertorous 
noise  of  her  breathing  had  recommenced. 

Rachel's  vague  dread  vanished  as  she  gazed  at  the 
worn  features,  and  gave  place  to  a  new  and  definite 
fright. 

"They  have  killed  her!"  she  muttered. 
204 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

And  she  ran  into  the  next  room  and  called  Mrs. 
Tarns. 

4 'Who's  below ?"  asked  Mrs.  Tarns,  as,  wide  awake, 
she  came  out  on  to  the  landing. 

"Nobody,"  said  Rachel.     "They've  gone." 

But  the  doctor  was  below.  Mr.  Batchgrew  had 
left  the  front  door  open. 

"What  a  good  thing!"  cried  Rachel. 

In  the  bedroom  Dr.  Yardley,  speaking  with  normal 
loudness,  just  as  though  Mrs.  Maldon  had  not  been 
present,  said  to  Rachel: 

"I  expected  this  this  morning.  There's  nothing 
to  be  done.  If  you  try  to  give  her  food  she'll  only 
get  it  into  the  lung.  It's  very  improbable  that  she'll 
regain  consciousness . ' ' 

"But  are  you  sure,  doctor?"  Rachel  asked. 

The  doctor  answered  grimly: 

1 '  No,  I  'm  not — I 'm  never  sure.     She  may  recover. ' ' 

"She's  been  rather  disturbed  this  afternoon." 

The  doctor  lifted  his  shoulders. 

"That's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  he.  "As 
I  told  you,  she's  had  an  embolus  in  one  artery  of  the 
brain.  It  lessened  at  first  for  a  bit — they  do  some- 
times— and  now  it's  enlarging,  that's  all.  Nothing 
external  could  affect  it  either  way." 

"But  how  long — ?"  asked  Rachel,  recoiling. 


Her  chief  sensation  that  evening  was  that  she  was 
alone,  for  Mrs.  Tarns  was  not  a  companion,  but  a 
slave.  She  was  alone  with  a  grave  and  strange  re- 
sponsibility, which  she  could  not  evade.  Indeed, 
events  had  occurred  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 

205 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

her  responsibility  seem  natural  and  inevitable,  to 
give  it  the  sanction  of  the  most  correct  convention. 
Between  four-thirty  and  six  in  the  afternoon  four 
separate  calls  of  inquiry  had  been  made  at  the 
house,  thus  demonstrating  Mrs.  Maldon's  status  in 
the  town.  One  lady  had  left  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes. 
To  all  these  visitors  Rachel  had  said  the  same 
things,  namely,  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  been  better  on 
the  Saturday,  but  was  worse;  that  the  case  was  very 
serious;  that  the  doctor  had  been  twice  that  day 
and  was  coming  again,  that  Councilor  Batchgrew  was 
fully  informed  and  had  seen  the  patient;  that  Mr. 
Louis  Fores,  Mrs.  Maldon's  only  near  relative  in 
England,  was  constantly  in  and  out;  that  she  her- 
self had  the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  was 
thoroughly  capable,  and  that  while  she  was  much 
obliged  for  offers  of  help,  she  could  think  of  no  way 
of  utilizing  them. 

So  that  when  the  door  closed  on  the  last  of  the 
callers,  Rachel,  who  a  month  earlier  had  never  even 
seen  Mrs.  Maldon,  was  left  in  sole  rightful  charge  of 
the  dying-bed.  And  there  was  no  escape  for  her. 
She  could  not  telegraph — the  day  being  Sunday. 
Moreover,  except  Thomas  Batchgrew,  there  was  no- 
body to  whom  she  might  telegraph.  And  she  did 
not  want  Mr.  Batchgrew.  Though  Mr.  Batchgrew 
certainly  had  not  guessed  the  relapse,  she  felt  no 
desire  whatever  to  let  him  have  news.  She  hated  his 
blundering  intrusions;  and  in  spite  of  the  doctor's 
statements  she  would  insist  to  herself  that  he  and 
Louis  between  them  had  somehow  brought  about 
the  change  in  Mrs.  Maldon.  Of  course  she  might 
fetch  Louis.  She  did  not  know  his  exact  address, 
but  he  could  be  discovered.    At  any  rate,   Mrs. 

2o6 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

Tarns  might  be  sent  for  him.  But  she  could  not 
bring  herself  to  make  any  advance  towards  Louis. 

At  a  little  after  six  o'clock,  when  the  rare  chapel- 
goers  had  ceased  to  pass,  and  the  still  rarer  church- 
goers were  beginning  to  respond  to  distant  bells, 
Mrs.  Tarns  informed  her  that  tea  was  ready  for  her 
in  the  parlor,  and  she  descended  and  took  tea,  ut- 
terly alone.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  lighted  the  fire,  and 
had  moved  the  table  comfortably  towards  the  fire — 
act  of  astounding  initiative  and  courage,  in  itself  a 
dramatic  proof  that  Mrs.  Maldon  no  longer  reigned 
at  Bycars.  Tea  finished,  Rachel  returned  to  the 
sick  room,  where  there  was  nothing  whatever  to  do 
except  watch  the  minutes  recede.  She  thought  of 
her  father  and  brother  in  America. 

Then  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  had  been  clearing  away 
the  tea-things,  came  into  the  bedroom  and  said: 

"Here's  Mr.  Fores,  miss.,, 

Rachel  started. 

"Mr.  Fores!  What  does  he  want?"  she  asked, 
querulously. 

Mrs.  Tarns  preserved  her  blandness. 

"He  asked  for  you,  miss." 

"Didn't  he  ask  how  Mrs.  Maldon  is?" 

"No,  miss." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  You  might  run 
down  and  tell  him  what  the  doctor  said,  Mrs.  Tarns." 
She  tried  to  make  her  voice  casually  persuasive. 

"Shall  I,  miss?"  said  Mrs.  Tarns,  doubtfully,  and 
turned  to  the  door. 

Rachel  was  again  full  of  fear  and  resentment. 
Louis  had  committed  the  infamy  of  luring  her  into 
the  cinematograph.  It  was  through  him  that  she 
had  "got  herself  talked  about."     Mrs.  Maldon's  last 

207 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

words  had  been  a  warning  against  him.  He  and  Mr. 
Batchgrew  had  desecrated  the  sick-room  with  their 
mysterious  visitations.  And  now  Louis  was  come 
again.  From  what  catastrophes  had  not  Mrs. 
Maldon's  warning  saved  her! 

1 '  Here !    I'll  go, ' '  said  Rachel,  in  a  sudden.resolve. 

"I'm  glad  on  it,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns,  simply. 

In  the  parlor  Louis  stood  in  front  of  the  fire. 
Although  the  blinds  were  drawn,  the  gas  had  not  been 
lighted;  but  the  fire  and  the  powerful  street-lamp 
together  sufficed  to  give  clearness  to  every  object 
in  the  room.  The  table  had  been  restored  lo  its 
proper  situation.  The  gift  of  grapes  ornamented  the 
sideboard. 

"Good  evening/ '  said  Rachel,  sullenly,  as  if  pout- 
ing. She  avoided  looking  at  Louis,  and  sat  down  on 
the  Chesterfield. 

Louis  broke  forth  in  a  cascade  of  words: 

"I  say,  I'm  most  awfully  sorry.  I  hadn't  the 
faintest  notion  this  afternoon  she  was  any  worse — 
not  the  faintest.  Otherwise  I  shouldn't  have  dreamt 
— I  met  the  doctor  just  now  in  Moorthorne  Road 
and  he  told  me." 

"What  did  he  tell  you?"  asked  Rachel,  still  with 
averted  head,  picking  at  her  frock. 

"Well,  he  gave  me  to  understand  there's  very 
little  hope,  and  nothing  to  be  done.  If  I'd  had  the 
faintest  notion — " 

"You  needn't  worry  about  that,"  said  Rachel. 
"Your  coming  made  no  difference.  The  doctor 
said  so."  And  she  asked  herself  why  she  should  go 
out  of  her  way  to  reassure  Louis.  It  would  serve 
him  right  to  think  that  his  brusque  visit,  with  Mr. 
Batchgrew's,  was  the  origin  of  the  relapse. 

208 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

"Is  there  any  change ?"  Louis  asked. 

Rachel  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said.  "We 
just  have  to  sit  and  watch." 

"Doctor's  coming  in  again  to-night,  isn't  he?" 

Rachel  nodded. 

"It  seems  it's  an  embolus." 

Rachel  nodded  once  more.  She  had  still  no  con- 
ception of  what  an  embolus  was;  but  she  naturally 
assumed  that  Louis  could  define  an  embolus  with 
exactitude. 

"I  say,"  said  Louis,  and  his  voice  was  suddenly 
charged  with  magical  qualities  of  persuasion,  en- 
treaty, and  sincerity,  "I  say — you  might  look  at  me." 

She  flushed,  but  she  looked  up  at  him.  She  might 
have  sat  straight  and  remarked:  "Mr.  Fores,  what 
do  you  mean  by  talking  to  me  like  that?"  But  she 
raised  her  eyes  and  her  crimson  cheeks  for  one 
timid  instant,  and  dropped  them.  His  voice  had 
overcome  her.  With  a  single  phrase,  with  a  mere  in- 
flection, he  had  changed  the  key  of  the  interview. 
And  the  glance  at  him  had  exposed  her  to  the  appeal 
of  his  face,  more  powerful  than  ten  thousand  logical 
arguments  and  warnings.  His  face  proved  that  he 
was  a  sympathetic,  wistful,  worried  fellow-creature 
— and  miraculously,  uniquely  handsome.  His  face 
in  the  twilight  was  the  most  romantic  face  that 
Rachel  had  ever  seen.  His  gestures  had  a  celestial 
charm. 

He  said : 

"I  know  I  ought  to  apologize  for  the  way  I  came 
in  this  afternoon.  I  do.  But  if  you  knew  what 
cause  I  had  .  .  .  !  Would  you  believe  that  old 
Batch  had  come  to  my  place,  and  practically  accused 
me  of  stealing  the  old  lady's  money?  Stealing  it!" 
14  209 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"  Never !"  Rachel  murmured. 

"Yes,  he  did.  The  fact  is,  he  knew  jolly  well 
he'd  no  business  to  have  left.it  in  the  house  that 
night,  so  he  wanted  to  get  out  of  it  by  making  me 
suffer.  You  know  he's  always  been  down  on  me. 
Well,  I  came  straight  up  here  and  I  told  auntie. 
Of  course  I  couldn't  make  a  fuss,  with  her  ill  in  bed. 
So  I  simply  told  her  I  hadn't  got  her  money  and  I 
hadn't  stolen  it,  and  I  left  it  at  that.  I  thought  the 
less  said  the  better.  But  I  had  to  say  that  much. 
I  wonder  what  Julian  would  have  said  if  he'd  been 
accused.  I  just  wonder!"  He  repeated  the  word, 
queerly  evocative:  "Julian!" 

"What  did  Mrs.  Maldon  say?"  Rachel  asked. 

"Well,  she  didn't  say  much.  She  believed  me, 
naturally.  And  then  old  Batch  came.  I  wasn't 
going  to  have  a  regular  scene  with  him  up  there,  so 
I  left.  I  thought  that  was  the  only  dignified  thing 
to  do.  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  and  I've  told  you. 
Don't  you  think  it's  a  shame?" 

Rachel  answered,  passionately: 

"I  do." 

She  answered  thus  because  she  had  a  tremendous 
desire  to  answer  thus.  To  herself  she  said:  "Do  I? 
.  .  .  Yes,  I  do."  Louis'  eyes  drew  sympathy  out 
of  her.  It  seemed  to  her  to  be  of  the  highest  im- 
portance that  those  appealing  eyes  should  not 
appeal  in  vain. 

"Item,  he  made  a  fearful  fuss  about  you  and  me 
being  at  the  cinema  last  night." 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  it's  got  to  do  with 
him!"  said  Rachel,  almost  savagely.  The  word 
"item"  puzzled  her.  Not  understanding  it,  she 
thought  she  had  misheard. 


END    AND    BEGINNING 

"That's  what  I  thought,  too,"  said  Louis,  and 
added,  very  gravely:  "At  the  same  time  I'm  really 
awfully  sorry.  Perhaps  I  oughtn't  to  have  asked 
you.  It  was  my  fault.  But  old  Batch  would  make 
the  worst  of  anything." 

Rachel  replied  with  feverish  conviction: 

"Mr.  Batchgrew  ought  to  be  ashamed.  You 
weren't  to  blame,  and  I  won't  hear  of  it!" 

Louis  started  forward  with  a  sudden  movement  of 
the  left  arm. 

"You're  magnificent,"  he  said,  with  emotion. 

Rachel  trembled,  and  shut  her  eyes.  She  heard 
his  voice  again,  closer  to  her,  repeating  with  even 
greater  emotion : ' '  You  're  magnificent . ' '  Tears  were 
in  her  eyes.  Through  them  she  looked  at  him.  And 
his  form  was  so  graceful,  his  face  so  nice,  so  exqui- 
sitely kind  and  lovable  and  loving,  that  her  admira- 
tion became  intense,  even  to  the  point  of  pain.  She 
thought  of  Batchgrew,  not  with  hate,  but  with  pity. 
He  was  a  monster,  but  he  could  not  help  it.  He 
alone  was  responsible  for  all  slanders  against  Louis. 
He  alone  had  put  Mrs.  Maldon  against  Louis. 
Louis  was  obviously  the  most  innocent  of  beings. 
Mrs.  Maldon's  warning,  "The  woman  who  married 
him  would  suffer  horribly,"  was  manifestly  absurd. 
"Suffer  horribly" — what  a  stinging  phrase,  like  a 
needle  broken  in  a  wound !  She  felt  tired  and  weak, 
above  all  tired  of  loneliness. 

His  hand  was  on  hers.  She  trembled  anew.  She 
was  not  Rachel,  but  some  new  embodiment  of 
surrender  and  acquiescence.  And  the  change  was 
delicious,  fearful.  .  .  .  She  thought:  "I  could  die  for 
him."  She  forgot  that  a  few  minutes  before  she  had 
been  steeling  herself  against  him,    She  wanted  him 

211 


THE    PRICE    OF   LOVE 

to  kiss  her,  and  waited  an  eternity.  And  when  he 
had  kissed  her,  and  she  was  in  a  maze  of  rapture,  a 
tiny  idea  shaped  itself  clearly  in  her  mind  for  an 
instant:  "This  is  wrong.  But  I  don't  care.  He  is 
mine" — and  then  melted  like  a  cloud  in  a  burning 
sky.  And  a  sense  of  the  miraculousness  of  destiny 
overcame  her.  In  two  days  had  happened  enough 
for  two  years.  It  was  staggering  to  think  that  only 
two  days  earlier  she  had  been  dreaming  of  him  as 
of  a  star.  Could  so  much,  indeed,  happen  in  two 
days?  She  imagined  blissfully,  in  her  ignorance  of 
human  experience,  that  her  case  was  without  prec- 
edent. Nay,  her  case  appalled  her  in  the  rapid- 
ity of  its  development!  And  was  thereby  the 
more  thrilling!  She  thought  again:  "Yes,  I  could 
die  for  him  —  and  I  would!"  He  was  still  the 
star,  but  —  such  was  the  miracle  —  she  clasped 
him. 

They  heard  Mrs.  Tarns  knocking  at  the  door. 
Nothing  would  ever  cure  the  charwoman's  habit  of 
knocking  before  entering.  Rachel  arose  from  the 
sofa  as  out  of  a  bush  of  blossoms.  And  in  the  artless 
honest  glance  of  her  virginity  and  her  simplicity,  her 
eyes  seemed  to  say  to  Mrs.  Tarns:  "Behold  the 
phoenix  among  men!  He  is  to  be  my  husband." 
Her  pride  in  the  strange,  wondrous,  incredible  state 
of  being  affianced  was  tremendous,  to  the  tragic 
point. 

"Can  ye  hear,  begging  yer  pardon?"  said  Mrs. 
Tarns,  pointing  through  the  open  door  and  up- 
ward. "Her's  just  begun  to  breathe  o'  that'n  [like 
that]." 

The  loud,  stertorous  sound  of  Mrs.  Maldon  un- 
consciously drawing  the  final  breaths  of  life  filled  the 

212 


END   AND    BEGINNING 

whole  house.     Louis  and  Rachel  glanced  at  each 
other,  scared,  shamed,  even  horrified,  to  discover  that 
the  vast  pendulum  of  the  universe  was  still  solemnly 
ticking  through  their  ecstasy. 
"I'm  coming,' '  said  Rachel. 


PART    II 


IX 

THE   MARRIED   WOMAN 


WONDERFUL  things  happen.  If  anybody  had 
foretold  to  Mrs.  Tarns  that  in  her  fifty-eighth 
year  she  would  accede  to  the  honorable  order  of  the 
starched  white  cap,  Mrs.  Tarns  could  not  have 
credited  the  prophecy.  But  there  she  stood,  in  the 
lobby  of  the  house  at  Bycars,  frocked  in  black,  with 
the  strings  of  a  plain,  but  fine,  white  apron  stretched 
round  her  stoutness,  and  the  cap  crowning  her  gray 
hair.  It  was  Louis  who  had  insisted  on  the  cap, 
which  Rachel  had  thought  unnecessary  and  even 
snobbish,  and  which  Mrs.  Tarns  had  nervously 
deprecated.  Not  without  pleasure,  however,  had 
both  women  yielded  to  his  indeed  unanswerable 
argument:  "You  can't  possibly  have  a  servant  open- 
ing the  door  without  a  cap.     It's  unthinkable." 

Thus  in  her  latter  years  of  grandmotherhood  had 
Mrs.  Tarns  cast  off  the  sack-cloth  of  the  charwoman 
and  become  a  glorious  domestic  servant,  with  a  room 
of  her  own  in  the  house,  and  no  responsibilities  be- 
yond the  house,  and  no  right  to  leave  the  house  save 
once  a  week,  when  she  visited  younger  generations 
who  still  took  from  her  and  gave  nothing  back.  She 
owed  the  advancement  to  Rachel,  who,  quite  unused 

217 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

to  engaging  servants,  and  alarmed  by  harrowing 
stories  of  the  futility  of  registry  offices  and  advertise- 
ments, had  seen  in  Mrs.  Tarns  the  comfortable  solu- 
tion of  a  fearful  problem.  Louis  would  have  pre- 
ferred a  younger,  slimmer,  nattier,  fluffier  creature 
than  Mrs.  Tarns,  but  was  ready  to  be  convinced  that 
such  as  he  wanted  lived  only  in  his  fancy.  More- 
over, he  liked  Mrs.  Tarns,  and  would  occasionally 
flatter  her  by  a  smack  on  the  shoulder. 

So  in  the  April  dusk  Mrs.  Tarns  stood  in  the 
windy  lobby,  and  was  full  of  vanity  and  the  pride 
of  life.  She  gazed  forth  in  disdain  at  the  little 
crowd  of  inquisitive  idlers  and  infants  that  remained 
obstinately  on  the  pavement  hoping  against  hope 
that  the  afternoon's  marvelous  series  of  social 
phenomena  was  not  over.  She  scorned  the  slat- 
ternly, stupid  little  crowd  for  its  lack  of  manners. 
Yet  she  ought  to  have  known,  and  she  did  know  as 
well  as  anyone,  that  though  in  Bursley  itself  people 
will  pretend  out  of  politeness  that  nothing  unusual 
is  afoot  when  something  unusual  most  obviously  is 
afoot,  in  the  small  suburbs  of  Bursley,  such  as 
Bycars,  no  human  or  divine  power  can  prevent  the 
populace  from  loosing  its  starved  curiosity  openly 
upon  no  matter  what  spectacle  that  may  differ  from 
the  ordinary.  Alas!  Mrs.  Tarns  in  the  past  had 
often  behaved  even  as  the  simple  members  of  that 
crowd.  Nevertheless,  all  ceremonies  being  over, 
she  shut  the  front  door  with  haughtiness,  feeling  glad 
that  she  was  not  as  others  are.  And  further,  she  was 
swollen  and  consequential  because,  without  count- 
ing persons  named  Batchgrew,  two  visitors  had  come 
in  a  motor,  and  because  at  one  supreme  moment  no 
less  than  two  motors  (including  a  Batchgrew  motor) 

218 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

had  been  waiting  together  at  the  curb  in  front  of 
her  cleaned  steps.  Who  could  have  foreseen  this 
arrant  snobbishness  in  the  excellent  child  of  nature, 
Mrs.  Tarns? 

A  far  worse  example  of  spiritual  iniquity  sat 
lolling  on  the  Chesterfield  in  the  parlor.  Ignorance 
and  simplicity  and  a  menial  imitativeness  might  be 
an  excuse  for  Mrs.  Tarns;  but  not  for  Rachel,  the 
mistress,  the  omniscient,  the  all-powerful,  the  giver 
of  good,  who  could  make  and  unmake  with  a  nod. 
Rachel  sitting  gorgeous  on  the  Chesterfield  amid  an 
enormous  twilit  welter  and  litter  of  disarranged 
chairs  and  tables;  empty  teapots,  cups,  jugs,  and 
glasses;  dishes  of  fragmentary  remains  of  cake  and 
chocolate;  plates  smeared  with  roseate  ham,  sticky 
teaspoons,  loaded  ash-trays,  and  a  large  general 
crumby  mess — Rachel,  the  downright,  the  contemner 
of  silly  social  prejudices  and  all  nonsense,  was  actually 
puffed  up  because  she  had  a  servant  in  a  cap  and 
because  automobiles  had  deposed  elegant  girls  at  her 
door  and  whirled  them  off  again.  And  she  would 
have  denied  it  and  yet  was  not  ashamed. 

The  sole  extenuation  of  Rachel's  base  worldliness 
was  that  during  the  previous  six  months  she  had 
almost  continuously  had  the  sensations  of  a  person 
crossing  Niagara  on  a  tight-rope,  and  that  now,  on 
this  very  day,  she  had  leaped  to  firm  ground  and 
was  accordingly  exultant.  After  Mrs.  Maldon's 
death  she  had  felt  somehow  guilty  of  disloyalty; 
she  passionately  regretted  having  had  no  opportu- 
nity to  assure  the  old  lady  that  her  suspicions  about 
Louis  were  wrong  and  cruel,  and  to  prove  to  her  in 
some  mysterious  way  the  deep  Tightness  of  the  be- 
trothal.    She  blushed  only  for  the  moment  of  her 

219 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

betrothal.  She  had  solemnly  bound  Louis  to  keep 
the  betrothal  secret  until  Christmas.  She  had  laid 
upon  both  of  them  a  self-denying  ordinance  as  to 
meeting.  The  funeral  over,  she  was  without  a 
home.  She  wished  to  find  another  situation;  Louis 
would  not  hear  of  it.  She  contemplated  a  visit  to  her 
father  and  brother  in  America.  In  response  to  a 
letter,  her  brother  sent  her  the  exact  amount  of  the 
steerage  fare,  and,  ready  to  accept  it,  she  was  as- 
tounded at  Louis'  fury  against  her  brother  and  at 
the  accent  with  which  he  had  spit  out  the  word 
" steerage.' '  Her  brother  and  father  had  gone  steer- 
age. However,  she  gave  way  to  Louis,  chiefly  be- 
cause she  could  not  bear  to  leave  him  even  for  a 
couple  of  months.  She  was  lodging  at  Knype,  at 
a  total  normal  expense  of  ten  shillings  a  week.  She 
possessed  over  fifty  pounds — enough  to  keep  her 
for  six  months  and  to  purchase  a  trousseau,  and  not 
one  penny  would  she  deign  to  receive  from  her 
affianced. 

The  disclosure  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  will  increased 
the  delicacy  of  her  situation.  Mrs.  Maldon  had  left 
the  whole  of  her  property  in  equal  shares  to  Louis 
and  Julian  absolutely.  There  were  others  who  by 
blood  had  an  equal  claim  upon  her  with  these  two, 
but  the  rest  had  been  mere  names  to  her,  and  she 
had  characteristically  risen  above  the  convention- 
alism of  heredity.  Mr.  Batchgrew,  the  executor, 
was  able  to  announce  that  in  spite  of  losses  the  heirs 
would  get  over  three  thousand  five  hundred  pounds 
apiece.  Hence  it  followed  that  Rachel  would  be 
marrying  for  money  as  well  as  for  position!  She 
trembled  when  the  engagement  was  at  length  an- 
nounced.   And  when  Louis,  after  consultation  with 

220 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

Mr.  Batchgrew,  pointed  out  that  it  would  be  ad- 
vantageous not  merely  to  the  estate  as  a  whole,  but 
to  himself  and  to  her,  if  he  took  over  the  house  at 
Bycars  and  its  contents  at  a  valuation  and  made  it 
their  married  home,  she  at  first  declined  utterly. 
The  scheme  seemed  sacrilegious  to  her.  How  could 
she  dare  to  be  happy  in  that  house  where  Mrs.  Mai- 
don  had  died,  in  that  house  which  was  so  intimately 
Mrs.  Maldon's?  But  the  manifold  excellences  of 
the  scheme,  appealing  strongly  to  her  common 
sense,  overcame  her  scruples.  The  dead  are  dead; 
the  living  must  live,  and  the  living  must  not  be 
morbid;  it  would  be  absurd  to  turn  into  a  pious 
monument  every  house  which  death  has  emptied; 
Mrs.  Maldon,  had  she  known  all  the  circumstances, 
would  have  been  only  too  pleased,  etc.,  etc.  The 
affair  was  settled,  and  grew  into  public  knowledge. 
Rachel  had  to  emerge  upon  the  world  as  an  en- 
gaged girl.  Left  to  herself,  she  would  have  shunned 
all  formalities;  but  Louis,  bred  up  in  Barnes,  knew 
what  was  due  to  society.  Naught  was  omitted. 
Louis*  persuasiveness  could  not  be  withstood. 
Withal,  he  was  so  right.  And  though  Rachel  in  one 
part  of  her  mind  had  a  contempt  for  "fuss,"  in  an- 
other she  liked  it  and  was  half  ashamed  of  liking  it. 
Further,  her  common  sense,  of  which  she  was  still 
proud,  told  her  that  the  delicacy  of  her  situation 
demanded  "fuss,"  and  would  be  much  assuaged 
thereby.  And  finally,  the  whole  thing,  being  miracu- 
lous, romantic,  and  incredible,  had  the  quality  of  a 
dream  through  which  she  lived  in  a  dazed  non- 
chalance. Could  it  be  true  that  she  had  resided 
with  Mrs.  Maldon  only  for  a  month?  Could  it  be 
true  that  her  courtship  had  lasted  only  two  days — 

221 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

or  at  most,  three?  Never,  she  thought,  had  a  sensi- 
ble, quiet  girl  ridden  such  a  whirlwind  before  in  the 
entire  history  of  the  world.  Could  Louis  be  as  fool- 
ishly fond  of  her  as  he  seemed?  Was  she  truly  to 
be  married?  "I  sha'n't  have  a  single  wedding- 
present/'  she  had  said.  Then  wedding-presents  be- 
gan to  come.  "Are  we  married ?"  she  had  said, 
when  they  were  married  and  in  the  conventional 
clothes  in  the  conventional  vehicle.  After  that  she 
soon  did  realize  that  the  wondrous  and  the  unutter- 
able had  happened  to  her  too.  And  she  swung  over 
to  the  other  extreme :  instead  of  doubting  the  reality 
of  her  own  experiences,  she  was  convinced  that  her 
experiences  were  more  real  than  those  of  any  other 
created  girl,  and  hence  she  felt  a  slight  condescension 
towards  all  the  rest.  "I  am  a  married  woman,"  she 
reflected  at  intervals,  with  intense  momentary  pride. 
And  her  fits  of  confusion  in  public  would  end  in  re- 
currences of  this  strange,  proud  feeling. 

Then  she  had  to  face  the  return  to  Bursley,  and, 
later,  the  At  Home  which  Louis  propounded  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  which  she  knew  to  be  in- 
evitable. The  house  was  her  toy,  and  Mrs.  Tarns 
was  her  toy.  But  the  glee  of  playing  with  toys  had 
been  overshadowed  for  days  by  the  delicious  dread 
of  the  At  Home.  "It  will  be  the  first  caller  that 
will  kill  me,"  she  had  said.  "But  will  anybody 
really  come  ?' '  And  the  first  caller  had  called.  And, 
finding  herself  still  alive,  she  had  become  radiant, 
and  often  during  the  afternoon  had  forgotten  to  be 
clumsy.  The  success  of  the  At  Home  was  prodig- 
ious, startling.  Now  and  then  when  the  room  was 
full,  and  people  without  chairs  perched  on  the  end 
of  the  Chesterfield,  she  had  whispered  to  her  secret 

222 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

heart  in  a  tiny,  tiny  voice:  " These  are  my  guests. 
They  all  treat  me  with  special  deference.  I  am  the 
hostess.  I  am  Mrs.  Fores"  The  Batchgrew  clan 
was  well  represented,  no  doubt  by  order  from  au- 
thority. Mrs.  Yardley  came,  in  surprising  stylish- 
ness. Visitors  arrived  from  Knype.  Miss  Mal- 
kin  came  and  atoned  for  her  historic  glance  in  the 
shop.  But  the  dazzlers  were  sundry  male  friends  of 
Louis,  with  Kensingtonian  accents,  strange  phrases, 
and  assurance  in  the  handling  of  teacups  and  the 
choosing  of  cake.  .  .  .  One  by  one  and  two  by  two 
they  had  departed,  and  at  last  Rachel,  with  a  mind 
as  it  were  breathless  from  rapid  Sittings  to  and  fro, 
was  seated  alone  on  the  sofa. 

She  was  richly  dressed  in  a  dark  blue  taffetas  dress 
that  gave  brilliance  to  her  tawny  hair.  Perhaps  she 
was  over-richly  dressed,  for,  like  many  girls  who  as 
a  rule  are  not  very  interested  in  clothes,  she  was 
too  interested  in  them  at  times,  and  inexperienced 
taste  was  apt  to  mislead  her  into  an  unfitness.  Also 
her  figure  was  too  stiff  and  sturdy  to  favor  elegance. 
But  on  this  occasion  the  general  effect  of  her  was 
notably  picturesque,  and  her  face  and  hair,  and  the 
expression  of  her  pose,  atoned  in  their  charm  for  the 
shortcomings  and  the  luxuriance  of  the  frock.  She 
was  no  more  the  Rachel  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  known 
and  that  Louis  had  first  kissed.  Her  glance  had 
altered,  and  her  gestures.  She  would  ask  herself, 
could  it  be  true  that  she  was  a  married  woman? 
But  her  glance  and  gestures  announced  it  true  at 
every  instant.  A  new  languor  and  a  new  confidence 
had  transformed  the  girl.  Her  body  had  been  modi- 
fied and  her  soul  at  once  chastened  and  fired.  Fresh 
in  her  memory  was  endless  matter  for  meditation. 

223 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

And  on  the  sofa,  in  a  negligent  attitude  of  repose, 
with  shameless  eyes  gazing  far  into  the  caverns  of 
the  fire,  and  an  unreadable  faint  smile  on  her  face, 
she  meditated.  And  she  was  the  most  seductive, 
tantalizing,  self-contradictory  object  for  study  in  the 
whole  of  Bursley.  She  had  never  been  so  interesting 
as  in  this  brief  period,  and  she  might  never  be  so 
interesting  again. 

Mrs.  Tarns  entered.  With  her  voice  Mrs.  Tarns 
said,  "Shall  I  begin  to  clear  all  these  things  away, 
rnam?"  But  with  her  self-conscious  eyes  Mrs.  Tarns 
said  to  the  self-conscious  eyes  of  Rachel,  "What  a 
staggering  world  we  live  in,  don't  we?" 


ii 

Rachel  sprang  from  the  Chesterfield,  smoothed 
down  her  frock,  shook  her  hair,  and  then  ran  up- 
stairs to  the  large  front  bedroom,  where  Louis,  to 
whom  the  house  was  just  as  much  a  toy  as  to  Rachel, 
was  about  to  knock  a  nail  into  a  wall.  Out  of  breath, 
she  stood  close  to  him  very  happily.  The  At 
Home  was  over.  She  was  now  definitely  received  as 
a  married  woman  in  a  town  full  of  married  women 
and  girls  waiting  to  be  married  women.  She  had 
passed  successfully  through  a  trying  and  exhausting 
experience;  the  nervous  tension  was  slackened.  And 
therefore  it  might  be  expected  that  she  would  have 
a  sense  of  reaction,  the  vague  melancholy  which  is 
produced  when  that  which  has  long  been  seen  before 
is  suddenly  seen  behind.  But  it  was  not  so  in  the 
smallest  degree.  Every  moment  of  her  existence 
equally  was  thrilling  and  happy.  One  piquant  joy 
was  succeeded  immediately  by  another  as  piquant. 

224 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

To  Rachel  it  was  not  in  essence  more  exciting  to 
officiate  at  an  At  Home  than  to  watch  Louis  drive 
a  nail  into  a  wall. 

The  man  winked  at  her  in  the  dusk;  she  winked 
back,  and  put  her  hand  intimately  on  his  shoulder. 
She  thought,  "I  am  safe  with  him  now  in  the  house.' ' 
The  feeling  of  solitude  with  him,  of  being  barricaded 
against  the  world  and  at  the  mercy  of  Louis  alone, 
was  exquisite  to  her.  Then  Louis  raised  himself  on 
his  toes,  and  raised  his  left  arm  with  the  nail  as  high 
as  he  could,  and  stuck  the  point  of  the  nail  against 
a  pencil-mark  on  the  wall.  Then  he  raised  the  right 
hand  with  the  hammer;  but  the  mark  was  just  too 
high  to  be  efficiently  reached  by  both  hands  simul- 
taneously. Louis  might  have  stood  on  a  chair.  This 
simple  device,  however,  was  too  simple  for  them. 

Rachel  said : 

"Shall  I  stand  on  a  chair  and  hold  the  nail  for 
you?" 

Louis  murmured: 

"Brainy  little  thing!    Never  at  a  loss!" 

She  skipped  on  to  a  chair  and  held  the  nail. 
Towering  thus  above  him,  she  looked  down  on  her 
husband  and  thought:  "This  man  is  mine  alone, 
and  he  is  all  mine."  And  in  Rachel's  fancy  the 
thought  itself  seemed  to  caress  Louis  from  head  to 
foot. 

"Supposing  I  catch  you  one?"  said  Louis,  as  he 
prepared  to  strike. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Rachel. 

And  the  fact  was  that  really  she  would  have  liked 

him  ,to  hit  her  finger  instead  of  the  nail — not  too 

hard,   but  still   smartly.      She   would  have   taken 

pleasure  in  the  pain:  such  was  the  perversity  of  the 

15  225 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

young  wife.  But  Louis  hit  the  nail  infallibly  every 
time. 

He  took  up  a  picture  which  had  been  lying  against 
the  wall  in  a  dark  corner,  and  thrust  the  twisting 
wire  of  it  over  the  nail. 

Rachel,  when  in  the  deepening  darkness  she  had 
peered  into  the  frame,  exclaimed,  pouting: 

"Oh,  darling,  you  aren't  going  to  hang  that  here, 
are  you?  It's  so  old-fashioned.  You  said  it  was 
old-fashioned  yourself.  I  did  want  that  thing  that 
came  this  morning  to  be  put  somewhere  here.  Why 
can't  you  stick  this  in  the  spare  room?  .  .  .  Unless, 
of  course,  you  prefer.  ..."  She  was  being  defer- 
ential to  the  art-expert  in  him,  as  well  as  to  the 
husband. 

"Not  in  the  least!"  said  Louis,  acquiescent,  and 
unhooked  the  picture. 

Taste  changes.  The  rejected  of  Rachel  was  a 
water-color  by  the  late  Athelstan  Maldon,  adored  by 
Mrs.  Maldon.  Already  it  had  been  degraded  from 
the  parlor  to  the  bedroom,  and  now  it  was  to  be 
pushed  away  like  a  shame  into  obscurity.  It  was 
a  view  of  the  celebrated  Vale  of  Llangollen,  finicking, 
tight,  and  hard  in  manner,  but  with  a  certain  senti- 
ment and  modest  skill.  The  way  in  which  the 
initials  "A.  M."  had  been  hidden  amid  the  fore- 
ground foliage  in  the  left-hand  corner  disclosed 
enough  of  the  painter's  quiet  and  proud  tempera- 
ment to  show  that  he  "took  after"  his  mother.  Yet 
a  few  more  years,  and  the  careless  observer  would 
miss  those  initials  altogether  and  would  be  con- 
temptuously inquiring,  "Who  did  this  old  daub,  I 
wonder?"  And  nobody  would  know  who  did  the  old 
daub,  or  that  the  old  daub  for  thirty  years  had  been 

226 


-■  lliH! 

:  "'     -  X" 

~~-*^*  |  s ."■■ 

'  *JiJf* 

j    •'                       -IMBF* 

>  I"   -    .1$        %SSfe  '•'*V"^»<I 

r"v  '  ^L  *' 

SiIhX^  t            1 

-'-'?'    ' 

":--i*jHT. 

$^7-         % 

L;<i<3r         |          | 

^tesi    ,  % 

1             v  JT^ 

\ . 

^&&iw 

A  figure    was    moving    quickly    down    Moorthorne 
r 


'Road. 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

an  altar  for  undying  affection,  and  also  a  distin- 
guished specimen — admired  by  a  whole  generation  of 
townsfolk — of  the  art  of  water-color. 

And  the  fate  of  Athelstan's  sketch  was  symp- 
tomatic. Mrs.  Maldon's  house  had  been  considered 
perfect,  up  to  the  time  of  her  death.  Rachel  had 
at  first  been  even  intimidated  by  it;  Louis  had  sin- 
cerely praised  it.  And  indeed  its  perfection  was  an 
axiom  of  drawing-room  conversation.  But  as  soon 
as  Louis  and  Rachel  began  to  look  on  the  house  with 
the  eye  of  inhabitants,  the  axiom  fell  to  a  dogma, 
and  the  dogma  was  exploded.  The  dreadful  truth 
came  out  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  shown  a  strange 
indifference  to  certain  aspects  of  convenience,  and 
that,  in  short,  she  must  have  been^a  peculiar  old  lady 
with  ideas  of  her  own.  Louis  proved  unanswerably 
that  in  the  hitherto  faultless  parlor  the  furniture  was 
ill  arranged,  and  suddenly  the  sideboard  and  the 
Chesterfield  had  changed  places,  and  all  concerned 
had  marveled  that  Mrs.  Maldon  had  for  so  long  kept 
the  Chesterfield  where  so  obviously  the  sideboard 
ought  to  have  been,  and  the  sideboard  where  so 
obviously  the  Chesterfield  ought  to  have  been. 

And  still  graver  matters  had  come  to  light.  The 
house  had  an  attic  floor,  which  was  unused  and  the 
scene  of  no  activity  except  spring  cleaning.  A  pre- 
vious owner,  infected  by  the  virus  of  modernity,  had 
put  a  bath  into  one  of  the  attics.  Now  Mrs.  Maldon, 
as  experiments  disclosed,  had  actually  had  the  water 
cut  off  from  the  bath.  Eyebrows  were  lifted  at  the 
revelation  of  this  caprice.  The  restoration  of  the 
supply  of  water  and  the  installing  of  a  geyser  were 
the  only  expenditures  which  thrifty  Rachel  had 
sanctioned  in  the  way  of  rejuvenating  the  house* 

227 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Rachel  had  decided  that  the  house  must,  at  any  rate 
for  the  present,  be  "made  to  do."  That  such  a 
decision  should  be  necessary  astonished  Rachel ;  and 
Mrs.  Maldon  would  have  been  more  than  astonished 
to  learn  that  the  lady  help,  by  fortitude  and  deter- 
mination, was  making  her  perfect  house  "do."  As 
regards  the  household  inventory,  Rachel  had  been 
obliged  to  admit  exceptions  to  her  rule  of  endurance. 
Perhaps  her  main  reason  for  agreeing  to  live  in  the 
house  had  been  that  there  would  be  no  linen  to  buy. 
But  truly  Mrs.  Maldon's  notion  of  what  constituted 
a  sufficiency  of — for  example — towels,  was  quite  too 
inadequate.  Louis  protested  that  he  could  com- 
fortably use  all  Mrs.  Maldon's  towels  in  half  a  day. 
More  towels  had  to  be  obtained.  There  were  other 
shortages,  but  some  of  them  were  set  right  by  means 
of  veiled  indications  to  prospective  givers  of  gifts. 

"You  mean  that  *  Garden  of  the  Hesperides'  affair 
for  up  here,  do  you?"  said  Louis. 

Rachel  gazed  round  the  bedchamber.  A  memory 
of  what  it  had  been  shot  painfully  through  her  mind. 
For  the  room  was  profoundly  changed  in  character. 
Two  narrow  bedsteads  given  by  Thomas  Batchgrew, 
and  described  by  Mrs.  Tarns,  in  a  moment  of  daring, 
as  "flighty,"  had  taken  the  place  of  Mrs.  Maldon's 
bedstead,  which  was  now  in  the  spare  room,  the 
spare-room  bedstead  having  been  allotted  to  Mrs. 
Tarns,  and  Rachel's  old  bedstead  sold.  Bright 
crocheted  and  embroidered  wedding-presents  enliv- 
ened the  pale  tones  of  the  room.  The  wardrobe, 
wash-stand,  dressing-table,  chairs,  carpet,  and  otto- 
man remained.  But  there  were  razors  on  the  wash- 
stand  and  boot-trees  under  it ;  the  wardrobe  had  been 
emptied,  and  filled  on  strange  principles  with  strange 

228 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

raiment;  and  the  Maldon  family  Bible,  instead  of 
being  on  the  ottoman,  was  in  the  ottoman — so  as 
to  be  out  of  the  dust. 

"Perhaps  we  may  as  well  keep  that  here,  after 
all,"  said  Rachel,  indicating  Athelstan's  water-color. 
Her  voice  was  soft.  She  remembered  that  the  name 
of  Mrs.  Maldon,  only  a  little  while  since  a  major 
notability  of  Bursley  and  the  very  mirror  of  virtuous 
renown,  had  been  mentioned  but  once,  and  even 
then  apologetically,  during  the  afternoon. 

Louis  asked,  sharply: 

"Why,  if  you  don't  care  for  it?    I  don't." 

"Well—"  said  Rachel.  "As  you  like,  then, 
dearest." 

Louis  walked  out  of  the  room  with  the  water- 
color,  and  in  a  moment  returned  with  a  photogravure 
of  Lord  Leighton's  "The  Garden  of  the  Hesperides," 
in  a  coquettish  gold  frame — a  gift  newly  arrived  from 
Louis'  connections  in  the  United  States.  The  mar- 
moreal and  academic  work  seemed  wonderfully 
warm  and  original  in  that  room  at  By  cars.  Rachel 
really  admired  it,  and  admired  herself  for  admiring 
it.  But  when  Louis  had  hung  it  and  flicked  it  into 
exact  perpendicularity,  and  they  had  both  exclaimed 
upon  its  brilliant  effect  even  in  the  dusk,  Rachel 
saw  it  also  with  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Maldon,  and 
wondered  what  Mrs.  Maldon  would  have  thought  of 
it  opposite  her  bed,  and  knew  what  Mrs.  Maldon 
would  have  thought  of  it. 

And  then,  the  job  being  done  and  the  progress  of 
civilization  assured,  Louis  murmured  in  a  new 
appealing  voice: 

"I  say,  Louise!" 

"Louise"  was  perhaps  his  most  happy  invention, 
229 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

and  the  best  proof  that  Louis  was  Louis.  Upon 
hearing  that  her  full  Christian  names  were  Rachel 
Louisa,  he  had  instantly  said:  "I  shall  call  you 
Louise."  Rachel  was  ravished,  Louisa  is  a  vulgar 
name — at  least  it  is  vulgar  in  the  Five  Towns,  where 
every  second  general  servant  bears  it.  But  Louise 
was  full  of  romance,  distinction,  and  beauty.  And 
it  was  the  perfect  complement  to  Louis.  Louis  and 
Louise — ideal  coincidence!  "But  nobody  except  me 
is  to  call  you  Louise,"  he  had  added.  And  thus 
completed  her  bliss. 

"What?"  she  encouraged  him  amorously. 

"Suppose  we  go  to  Llandudno  on  Saturday  for  the 
week-end?" 

His  tone  was  gay,  gentle,  innocent,  persuasive. 
Yet  the  words  stabbed  her  and  her  head  swam. 

"But  why?"  she  asked,  controlling  her  utterance. 

"Oh,  well!    Be  rather  a  lark,  wouldn't  it?" 

It  was  when  he  talked  in  this  strain  that  the 
inconvenient  voice  of  sagacity  within  her  would 
question  for  one  agonizing  instant  whether  she  was 
more  secure  as  the  proud,  splendid  wife  of  Louis 
Fores  than  she  had  been  as  a  mere  lady  help.  And 
the  same  insistent  voice  would  repeat  the  warnings 
which  she  had  had  from  Mrs.  Maldon  and  from 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  and  would  remind  her  of  what 
she  herself  had  said  to  herself  when  Louis  first  kissed 
her:  "This  is  wrong.  But  I  don't  care.  He  is 
mine." 

Upon  hearing  of  his  inheritance  from  Mrs.  Maldon, 
Louis  was  for  throwing  up  immediately  his  situation 
at  Horrocleave's.  Rachel  had  dissuaded  him  from 
such  irresponsible  madness.  She  had  prevented  him 
from  running  into  a  hundred  expenses  during  their 

230 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

engagement  and  in  connection  with  the  house.  And 
he  had  in  the  end  enthusiastically  praised  her 
common  sense.  But  that  very  morning  at  the  mid- 
day meal  he  had  surprised  her  by  announcing  that 
on  account  of  the  reception  he  should  not  go  to  the 
works  at  all  in  the  afternoon,  though  he  had  omitted 
to  warn  Horrocleave.  Ultimately  she  had  managed, 
by  guile,  to  despatch  him  to  the  works  for  two 
hours.  And  now  in  the  evening  he  was  alarming  her 
afresh.  Why  go  to  Llandudno?  What  point  was 
there  in  rushing  off  to  Llandudno,  and  scattering  in 
three  days  more  money  than  they  could  save  in 
three  weeks?  He  frightened  her  ingrained  pru- 
dence, and  her  alarm  was  only  increased  by  his 
obvious  failure  to  realize  the  terrible  defect  in  him- 
self. (For  to  her  it  was  terrible.)  The  joyous 
scheme  of  an  excursion  to  Llandudno  had  suddenly 
crossed  his  mind,  exciting  the  appetite  for  pleasure. 
Hence  the  appetite  must  be  immediately  indulged! 
.  .  .  Rachel  had  been  brought  up  otherwise.  And 
as  a  direct  result  of  Louis'  irresponsible  suggestion 
she  had  a  vision  of  the  house  with  county-court 
bailiffs  lodged  in  the  kitchen.  .  .  .  She  had  only  to 
say:  "Yes,  let's  go,"  and  they  would  be  off  on  the 
absurd  and  wicked  expedition. 

"I'd  really  rather  not,"  she  said,  smiling,  but 
serious. 

"All  serene.  But,  anyhow,  next  week's  Easter, 
and  we  shall  have  to  go  somewhere  then,  you  know." 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  looked 
close  at  him,  knowing  that  she  must  use  her  power 
and  that  the  heavy  dusk  would  help  her, 

"Why?"  she  asked  again.  "I'd  much  sooner  stay 
here  at  Easter.    Truly  I  would!  .  .  .  With  you!" 

231 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

The  episode  ended  with  an  embrace.  She  had 
won. 

1 'Very  well!  Very  well!"  said  Louis.  "Easter  in 
the  coal-cellar  if  you  like.     I'm  on  for  anything." 

"But  don't  you  see,  dearest?"  she  said. 

And  he  imitated  her  emphasis,  full  of  teasing  good 
humor : 

"Yes,  I  see,  dearest." 

She  breathed  relief,  and  asked : 

"Are  you  going  to  give  me  my  bicycle  lesson?" 


in 

Louis  had  borrowed  a  bicycle  for  Rachel  to  ruin 
while  learning  to  ride.  He  said  that  a  friend  had 
lent  it  to  him — a  man  in  Hanbridge  whose  mother 
had  given  up  riding  on  account  of  stoutness — but 
who  exactly  this  friend  was  Rachel  knew  not,  Louis' 
information  being  characteristically  sketchy  and  in- 
complete; and  with  his  air  of  candor  and  good 
humor  he  had  a  strange  way  of  warding  off  questions; 
so  that  already  Rachel  had  grown  used  to  a  phrase 
which  she  would  utter  only  in  her  mind,  "I  don't 
like  to  ask  him — " 

It  pleased  Louis  to  ride  this  bicycle  out  of  the 
back  yard,  down  the  sloping  entry,  and  then  steer 
it  through  another  narrow  gateway,  across  the  pave- 
ment, and  let  it  solemnly  bump,  first  with  the  front 
wheel  and  then  with  the  back  wheel,  from  the  pave- 
ment into  the  road.  During  this  feat  he  stood  on 
the  pedals.  He  turned  the  machine  up  Bycars  Lane, 
and  steadily  climbed  the  steep  at  Rachel's  walking 
pace.  And  Rachel,  hurrying  by  his  side,  watched 
in  the  obscurity  the  play  of  his  ankles  as  he   put 

232 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

into  practice  the  principles  of  pedaling  which  he  had 
preached.  He  was  a  graceful  rider ;  every  movement 
was  natural  and  elegant.  Rachel  considered  him  to 
be  the  most  graceful  cyclist  that  ever  was.  She  was 
fascinated  by  the  revolutions  of  his  feet. 

She  felt  ecstatically  happy.  The  episode  of  his 
caprice  for  the  seaside  was  absolutely  forgotten ;  after 
all,  she  asked  for  nothing  more  than  the  possession 
of  him,  and  she  had  that,  though  indeed  it  seemed 
too  marvelous  to  be  true.  The  bicycle  lesson  was 
her  hour  of  magic;  and  more  so  on  this  night  than 
on  previous  nights. 

' '  I  must  change  my  dress, '  ■  she  had  said.  ' '  I  can't 
go  in  this  one." 

"Quick,  then!" 

His  impatience  could  not  wait.  He  had  helped 
her.  He  undid  hooks,  and  fastened  others.  .  .  . 
The  rich  blue  frock  lay  across  the  bed  and  looked 
lovely  on  the  ivory-colored  counterpane.  It  seemed 
indeed  to  be  part  of  that  in  her  which  was  Louise. 
Then  she  was  in  a  short  skirt  which  she  had  devised 
herself,  and  he  was  pushing  her  out  of  the  room,  his 
hand  on  her  back.  And  she  had  feigned  reluctance, 
resisting  his  pressure,  while  laughing  with  gleeful 
eagerness  to  be  gone.  No  delay  had  been  allowed. 
As  they  passed  through  the  kitchen,  not  one  instant 
for  parley  with  Mrs.  Tarns  as  to  the  domestic  organi- 
zation of  the  evening!  He  was  still  pushing  her. 
.  .  .  Thus  she  had  had  to  confide  her  precious  house 
and  its  innumerable  treasures  to  Mrs.  Tarns.  And 
in  this  surrender  to  Louis'  whim  there  was  a  fear- 
ful joy. 

When  Louis  turned  at  last  into  Park  Road,  and 
stepped  from  between  the  wheels,  she  exclaimed,  a 

233 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

little  breathless  from  quick  walking  level  with  him 
up  the  hill : 

"I  can't  bear  to  see  you  ride  so  well.  Oh!"  She 
crunched  her  teeth  with  a  loving,  cruel  gesture.  "I 
should  like  to  hurt  you  frightfully!" 

"What  for?" 

"Because  I  shall  never,  never  be  able  to  ride  as 
well  as  you  do!" 

He  winked. 

"Here!    Take  hold." 

"I'm  not  ready!     I'm  not  ready!"  she  cried. 

But  he  loosed  the  machine,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  seize  it  as  it  fell.     That  was  his  teasing. 

Park  Road  had  been  the  scene  of  the  lesson  for 
three  nights.  It  was  level,  and  it  was  unfrequented. 
"And  the  doctor's  handy  in  case  you  break  your 
neck,"  Louis  had  said.  Dr.  Yardley's  red  lamp 
shone  amicably  among  yellow  lights,  and  its  ray  with 
theirs  was  lost  in  the  mysterious  obscurities  of  the 
closed  park.  Not  only  was  it  socially  advisable  for 
Rachel  to  study  the  perverse  nature  of  the  bicycle 
at  night — for  not  to  know  how  to  ride  the  bicycle 
was  as  shameful  as  not  to  know  how  to  read  and 
write — but  she  preferred  the  night  for  the  romantic 
feeling  of  being  alone  with  Louis,  in  the  dark  and 
above  the  glow  of  the  town.  She  loved  the  sharp 
night  wind  on  her  cheek,  and  the  faint  clandestine 
rustling  of  the  low  evergreens  within  the  park 
palisade,  and  the  invisible  and  almost  tangible 
soft  sky,  revealed  round  the  horizon  by  gleams  of 
fire.  She  had  longed  to  ride  the  bicycle  as  some 
girls  long  to  follow  the  hunt  or  to  steer  an  auto- 
mobile or  a  yacht.  And  now  her  ambition  was 
being  attained  amid  all  circumstances  of  bliss. 

*34 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

And  yet  she  would  shrink  from  beginning  the 
lesson. 

1 l  The  lamp !  You1  ve  forgotten  to  light  the  lamp  !' ' 
she  said. 

"Get  on!"  said  he. 

"But  suppose  a  policeman  comes?" 

"Suppose  you  get  on  and  start!  Do  you  think  I 
xm't  know  you  ?  Policemen  are  my  affair.  Besides, 
all  nice  policemen  are  in  bed.  .  .  .  Don't  be  afraid. 
It  isn't  alive.  I've  got  hold  of  the  thing.  Sit  well 
down.  No !  There  are  only  two  pedals.  You  seem 
to  think  there  are  about  nineteen.  Right !  No,  ho, 
no!  Don't — do  not — cling  to  those  blooming  handle- 
bars as  if  you  were  in  a  storm  at  sea.  Be  a  nieej 
little  cat  in  front  of  the  fire — all  your  muscles  looseA 
Now !    Are  you  ready  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  with  teeth  set  and  dilated 
eyes  staring  ahead  at  the  hideous  dangers  of  Park 
Road. 

He  impelled.  The  pedals  went  round.*  The 
machine  slid  terribly  forward. 

And  in  a  moment  Louis  said,  mischievously:   - 

"I  told  you  you'd  have  to  go  alone  to-night. 
There  you  are!" 

His  footsteps  ceased. 

"Louis!"  she  cried,  sharply  and  yet  sadly  upbraid- 
ing his  unspeakable  treason.  Her  fingers  gripped 
convulsively  the  handle-bars.  She  was  moving 
alone.  It  was  inconceivably  awful  and  delightful. 
She  was  on  the  back  of  a  wild  pony  in  the  forest. 
The  miracle  of  equilibrium  was  being  accomplished. 
The  impossible  was  done,  and  at  the  first  attempt? 
She  thought  very  clearly  how  wondrous  was  life, 
and  how  perfectly  happy  fate  had  made  her.     And 

235 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

then  she  was  lying  in  a  tangle  amid  dozens  of  com- 
plex wheels,  chains,  and  bars. 

"Hurt?"  shouted  Louis,  as  he  ran  up. 

She  laughed  and  said  "No,"  and  sat  up  stiffly,  full 
of  secret  dolors.  Yet  he  knew  and  she  knew  that 
the  accidents  of  the  previous  two  nights  had  covered 
her  limbs  with  blue  discolorations,  and  that  the  latest 
fall  was  more  severe  than  any  previous  one.  Her 
courage  enchanted  Louis  and  filled  him  with  a  sense 
of  security.  She  was  not  graceful  in  these  exercises. 
Her  ankles  were  thick  and  clumsy.  Not  merely  had 
she  no  natural  aptitude  for  physical  feats, — appar- 
ently she  was  not  lissom,  nor  elegant  in  motion. 
But  what  courage!  What  calm,  bright  endurance! 
What  stoicism!  Most  girls  would  have  reproached 
him  for  betraying  them  to  destruction,  would  have 
pouted,  complained,  demanded  petting  and  apologies. 
But  not  she!  She  was  like  a  man.  And  when  he 
helped  her  to  pick  herself  up  he  noticed  that  after 
all  she  was  both  lissom  and  agile,  and  exquisitely, 
disturbingly  girlish  in  her  short,  dusty  skirt;  and 
that  she  did  trust  him  and  depend  on  him.  And  he 
realized  that  he  was  safe  for  life  with  her.  She  was 
created  for  him. 

Work  was  resumed. 

"Now  don't  let  go  of  me  till  I  tell  you,"  she  en- 
joined, lightly. 

"I  won't,"  he  answered.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  his  loyalty  to  her  expanded  and  filled  all  his 
soul. 

Later,  as  she  approached  the  other  end  of  Park 
Road,  near  Moorthorne  Road,  a  tram-car  hurled 
itself  suddenly  down  Moorthorne  Road  and  over- 
threw her.     It  is  true  that  the  tram-car  was  never 

236 


THE    MARRIED    WOMAN 

less  than  twenty  yards  away  from  her.  But  even 
at  twenty  yards  it  could  overthrow.  Rachel  sat 
dazed  in  the  road,  and  her  voice  was  uncertain  as 
she  told  Louis  to  examine  the  bicycle.  One  of  the 
pedals  was  bent,  and  prevented  the  back  wheel  from 
making  a  complete  revolution. 

"It's  nothing,"  said  Louis.  "I'll  have  it  right  in 
the  morning.' ' 

"Who's  that?"  Rachel,  who  had  risen,  gasping, 
turned  to  him  excitedly  as  he  was  bending  over  the 
bicycle.  Conscious  that  somebody  had  been  stand- 
ing at  the  corner  of  the  street,  he  glanced  up.  A 
figure  was  moving  quickly  down  Moorthorne  Road 
in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

"I  dun'no',"  said  he. 

"It's  not  Julian,  is  it?" 

In  a  peculiar  tone  Louis  replied: 

"Looks  like  him,  doesn't  it?"  And  then  im- 
pulsively he  yelled,  "Hi!" 

The  figure  kept  on  its  way. 

"Seeing  that  the  inimitable  Julian's  still  in  South 
Africa,  it  can't  very  well  be  him.  And,  anyhow,  I'm 
not  going  to  run  after  him." 

"No,  of  course  it  can't,"  Rachel  assented. 

Presently  the  returning  procession  was  reformed. 
Louis  pushed  the  bicycle  on  its  front  wheel,  and 
Rachel  tried  to  help  him  to  support  the  weight  of 
the  suspended  part.  He  had  attempted  in  vain  to 
take  the  pedal  off  the  crank. 

"It's  perhaps  a  good  thing  you  fell  just  then," 
said  Louis.  "Because  old  Batch  is  coming  in  to- 
night, and  we'd  better  not  be  late." 

"But  you  never  told  me!" 

"Didn't  I?     I  forgot,"  he  said,  blandly. 
237 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Oh,  Louis!  .  .  .  He's  not  coming  for  supper,  I 
hope?" 

"My  child,  if  there's  a  chance  of  a  free  meal,  old 
Batch  will  be  on  the  spot." 

The  unaccustomed  housewife  foretold  her  ap- 
proaching shame,  and  proclaimed  Louis  to  be  the 
author  of  it.     She  began  to  quicken  her  steps. 

"You  certainly  ought  to  have  let  me  know  sooner, 
dearest,"  she  said,  seriously.  "You  really  are  ter- 
rible." 

Hard  knocks  had  not  hurt  her.  But  she  was  hurt 
now.  And  Louis'  smile  was  very  constrained.  Her 
grave  manner  of  saying  "dearest"  had  disquieted 
him. 


X 

THE   CHASM 


IT  is  true  that  Rachel  held  Councilor  Thomas 
Batchgrew  in  hatred,  that  she  had  never  pardoned 
him  for  the  insult  which  he  had  put  upon  her  in  the 
Imperial  Cinema  de  Luxe;  and  that,  indeed,  she 
could  never  pardon  him  for  simply  being  Thomas 
Batchgrew.  Nevertheless,,  there  was  that  evening 
in  her  heart  a  little  softening  towards  him.  The  fact 
was  that  the  councilor  had  been  flattering  her.  She 
would  have  denied  warmly  that  she  was  susceptible 
to  flattery;  even  if  authoritatively  informed  that 
no  human  being  whatever  is  unsusceptible  to  flattery, 
she  would  still  have  protested  that  she  at  any  rate 
was,  for,  like  numerous  young  and  inexperienced 
women,  she  had  persuaded  herself  that  she  was  the 
one  exception  to  various  otherwise  universal  rules. 
It  remained  that  Thomas  Batchgrew  had  been 
flattering  her.  On  arrival  he  had  greeted  her  with 
that  tinge  of  deference  which  from  an  old  man  never 
fails  to  thrill  a  girl.  Rachel's  pride  as  a  young 
married  woman  was  tigerishly  alert  and  hungry  that 
evening.  Thomas  Batchgrew,  little  by  little,  tamed 
and  fed  it  very  judiciously  at  intervals,  until  at 
length  it  seemed  to  purr  content  around  him  like  a 

239 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

cat.  The  phenomenon  was  remarkable,  and  the 
more  so  in  that  Rachel  was  convinced  that,  whereas 
she  was  as  critical  and  inimical  as  ever,  old  Batchgrew 
had  slightly  improved.  He  behaved  " heartily,'' 
and  everybody  appreciates  such  behavior  in  the  Five 
Towns.  He  was  by  nature  far  too  insensitive  to 
notice  that  the  married  lovers  were  treating  each 
other  with  that  finished  courtesy  which  is  the  symp- 
tom of  a  tiff  or  of  a  misunderstanding.  And  the 
married  lovers,  noticing  that  he  noticed  nothing, 
were  soon  encouraged  to  make  peace;  and  by  means 
of  certain  tones  and  gestures  peace  was  declared  in 
the  very  presence  of  the  unperceiving  old  brute, 
which  was  peculiarly  delightful  to  the  contracting 
parties. 

Rachel  had  less  difficulty  with  the  supper  than  she 
feared,  whereby  also  her  good  humor  was  fostered. 
With  half  of  a  cold  leg  of  mutton,  some  cheese,  and 
the  magnificent  fancy  remains  of  an  At  Home  tea, 
arrayed  with  the  doyleys  and  embroidered  cloths 
which  brides  always  richly  receive  in  the  Five  Towns, 
a  most  handsome  and  impressive  supper  can  be  con- 
cocted. Rachel  was  astonished  at  the  splendor  of 
her  own  table.  Mr.  Batchgrew  treated  this  supper 
with  unsurpassable  tact.  The  adjectives  he  applied 
to  it  were  short  and  emphatic  and  spoken  with  a  full 
mouth.  He  ate  the  supper;  he  kept  on  eating  it; 
he  passed  his  plate  with  alacrity;  he  refused  naught. 
And  as  the  meal  neared  its  end  he  emitted  those 
natural  inarticulate  noises  from  his  throat  which  in 
Persia  are  a  sign  of  high  breeding.  Useless  for 
Rachel  in  her  heart  to  call  him  a  glutton — his  atti- 
tude towards  her  supper  was  impeccable. 

And  now  the  solid  part  of  the  supper  was  over. 

240 


THE    CHASM 

One  extremity  of  the  Chesterfield  had  been  drawn 
closer  to  the  fire — an  operation  easily  possible  in  its 
new  advantageous  position — and  Louis  as  master 
of  the  house  had  mended  the  fire  after  his  own 
method,  and  Rachel  sat  upright  (somewhat  in  the 
manner  of  Mrs.  Maldon)  in  the  arm-chair  opposite 
Mr.  Batchgrew,  extended  half -reclining  on  the  Ches- 
terfield.    And  Mrs.  Tarns  entered  with  coffee. 

"You'll  have  coffee,  Mr.  Batchgrew ?"  said  the 
hostess. 

"Nay,   missis!    I  canna'   sleep  after  it." 

Secretly  enchanted  by  the  sweet  word  "  missis/ ' 
Rachel  was  nevertheless  piqued  by  this  refusal. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  have  some  of  Louise's 
coffee,"  said  Louis,  standing  negligently  in  front  of 
the  fire. 

Already,  though  under  a  month  old  as  a  husband, 
Louis,  following  the  eternal  example  of  good  hus- 
bands, had  acquired  the  sure  belief  that  his  wife 
could  achieve  a  higher  degree  of  excellence  in  cer- 
tain affairs  than  any  other  wife  in  the  world.  He 
had  selected  coffee  as  Rachel's  specialty. 

"Louise's?"  repeated  old  Batchgrew,  puzzled,  in 
his  heavy  voice. 

Rachel  flushed  and  smiled. 

"He  calls  me  Louise,  you  know,"  said  she. 

"Calls  you  Louise,  does  he?"  Batchgrew  mut- 
tered, indifferently.  But  he  took  a  cup  of  coffee, 
stirred  part  of  its  contents  into  the  saucer  and  on  to 
the  Chesterfield,  and  began  to  sup  the  remainder 
with  a  prodigious  splutter  of  ingurgitation. 

"And  you  must  have  a  cigarette,  too,"  Louis  care- 
lessly insisted.  And  Mr.  Batchgrew  agreed,  though 
it  was  notorious  that  he  only  smoked  once  in  a  blue 
16   . .  241 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

moon,  because  all  tobacco  was  apt  to  be  too  strong 
for  him. 

"You  can  clear  away,"  Rachel  whispered,  in  the 
frigid  tones  of  one  accustomed  to  command  cohorts 
of  servants  in  the  luxury  of  historic  castles. 

"Yes,  ma'm,"  Mrs.  Tarns  whispered  back,  ner- 
vously, proud  as  a  majordomo,  though  with  less  than 
a  majordomo's  aplomb. 

No  pride,  however,  could  have  outclassed  Rachel's. 
She  had  had  a  full  day,  and  the  evening  was  the 
crown  of  the  day,  because  in  the  evening  she  was 
entertaining  privately  for  the  first  time.  She  was 
the  one  lady  of  the  party;  for  these  two  men  she 
represented  woman,  and  they  were  her  men.  They 
depended  on  her  for  their  physical  well-being,  and 
not  in  vain.  She  was  the  hostess;  hers  to  command; 
hers  the  complex  responsibility  of  the  house.  She 
had  begun  supper  with  painful  timidity,  but  the 
timidity  had  now  nearly  vanished  in  the  flush  of 
social  success.  Critical  as  only  a  young  wife  can 
be,  she  was  excellently  well  satisfied  with  Louis' 
performance  in  the  role  of  host.  She  grew  more  than 
ever  sure  that  there  was  only  one  Louis.  See  him 
manipulate  a  cigarette — it  was  the  perfection  of 
worldliness  and  agreeable,  sensuous  grace !  See  him 
hold  a  match  to  Mr.  Batchgrew's  cigarette! 

Now  Mr.  Batchgrew  smoked  a  cigarette  clumsily. 
He  seemed  not  to  be  able  to  decide  whether  a  cigar- 
ette was  something  to  smoke  or  something  to  eat. 
Mr.  Batchgrew  was  more  ungainly  than  ever, 
stretched  in  his  characteristic  attitude  at  an  angle 
of  forty-five  degrees;  his  long  whiskers  were  more 
absurdly  than  ever  like  two  tails  of  a  wire-haired 
white  dog;  his  voice  more  coarsely  than  ever  rolled 

242 


THE    CHASM 

about  the  room  like  undignified  thunder.  He  was 
an  old,  old  man,  and  a  sinister.  It  was  precisely  his 
age  that  caressed  Rachel's  pride.  That  any  man 
so  old  should  have  come  to  her  house  for  supper, 
should  be  treating  her  as  an  equal  and  with  the 
directness  of  allusion  in  conversation  due  to  a  married 
woman  but  improper  to  a  young  girl — this  was  very 
sweet  to  Rachel.  The  subdued  stir  made  by  Mrs. 
Tarns  in  clearing  the  table  was  for  Rachel  a  de- 
licious background  to  the  scene.  The  one  flaw  in  it 
was  her  short  skirt,  which  she  had  not  had  time  to 
change.  Louis  had  protested  that  it  was  entirely 
in  order,  and  indeed  admirably  coquettish,  but 
Rachel  would  have  preferred  a  long  train  of  soft 
drapery  disposed  with  art  round  the  [front  of  her 
chair. 

"What  you  want  here  is  electricity/ '  said  Thomas 
Batchgrew,  gazing  at  the  incandescent  gas ;  he  could 
never  miss  a  chance,  and  was  never  discouraged  in  the 
pursuit  of  his  own  advantage. 

"You  think  so?"  murmured  Louis,  genially. 

"I  could  put  ye  in  summat  as  Vd — " 

Rachel  broke  in  with  clear,  calm  decision: 

"I  don't  think  we  shall  have  any  electricity  just 
yet." 

The  gesture  of  the  economical  wife  in  her  was  so 
final  that  old  Batchgrew  raised  his  eyebrows  with 
a  grin  at  Louis,  and  Louis  humorously  drew  down 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  in  response.  It  was  as  if 
they  had  both  said,  in  awe: 

"She  has  spoken!" 

And  Rachel,  still  further  flattered  and  happy, 
was  obliged  to  smile. 

When  Mrs.  Tarns  had  made  her  last  tiptoe  journey 
243 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

from  the  room  and  closed  the  door  with  due  silent 
respect  upon  those  great  ones,  the  expression  of 
Thomas  Batchgrew's  face  changed  somewhat;  he 
looked  round,  as  though  for  spies,  and  then  drew  a 
packet  of  papers  from  his  pocket.  And  the  ex- 
pression of  the  other  two  faces  changed  also.  For 
the  true  purpose  of  the  executor's  visit  was  now  to 
be  made  formally  manifest. 

"Now  about  this  statement  of  account — re  Eliza- 
beth Maldon,  deceased, "  he  growled,  deeply. 

' '  By  the  way, ' '  Louis  interrupted  him.  ' '  Is  Julian 
back?" 

"Julian  back?  Not  as  I  know  on,"  said  Mr. 
Batchgrew  aggressively.     "Why?" 

"We  thought  we  saw  him  walking  down  Moor- 
thorne  Road  to-night." 

"Yes,"  said  Rachel.  "We  both  thought  we  saw 
him." 

"Happen  he  is  if  he  aeroplaned  it!"  said  Batch- 
grew,  and  fumbled  nervously  with  the  papers. 

"It  couldn't  have  been  Julian,"  said  Louis,  con- 
fidently, to  Rachel. 

"No,  it  couldn't,"  said  Rachel. 

But  neither  conjured  away  the  secret  uneasiness 
of  the  other.  And  as  for  Rachel,  she  knew  that  all 
through  the  evening  she  had,  inexplicably,  been  dis- 
turbed by  an  apprehension  that  Julian,  after  his  long 
and  strange  sojourn  in  South  Africa,  had  returned  to 
the  district.  Why  the  possible  advent  of  Julian 
should  disconcert  her,  she  thought  she  could  not 
divine.  Mr.  Batchgrew's  demeanor  as  he  answered 
Louis'  question  mysteriously  increased  her  appre- 
hension. At  one  moment  she  said  to  herself,  "Of 
course  it  wasn't  Julian."    At  the  next,  "I'm  quite 

.244 


THE    CHASM 

sure  I  couldn't  be  mistaken."     At  the  next,  "And 
supposing  it  was  Julian — what  of  it?" 


ii 

When  Batchgrew  and  Louis,  sitting  side  by  side 
on  the  Chesterfield,  began  to  turn  over  documents 
and  peer  into  columns,  and  carry  the  finger  hori- 
zontally across  sheets  of  paper  in  search  of  figures, 
Rachel  tactfully  withdrew,  not  from  the  room,  but 
from  the  conversation,  it  being  her  proper  r61e  to 
pretend  that  she  did  not  and  could  not  understand 
the  complicated  details  which  they  were  discussing. 
She  expected  some  rather  dazzling  revelation  of 
men's  trained  methods  at  this  "business  interview" 
(as  Louis  had  announced  it),  for  her  brother  and 
father  had  never  allowed  her  the  slightest  knowledge 
of  their  daily  affairs.  But  she  was  disappointed. 
She  thought  that  both  the  men  were  somewhat 
absurdly  and  self-consciously  trying  to  be  solemn 
and  learned.  Louis  beyond  doubt  was  self-conscious 
— acting  as  it  were  to  impress  his  wife — and  Batch- 
grew's  efforts  to  be  hearty  and  youthful  with  the 
young  roused  her  private  ridicule. 

Moreover,  nothing  fresh  emerged  from  the  inter- 
view. She  had  known  all  of  it  before  from  Louis. 
Batchgrew  was  merely  repeating  and  resuming.  And 
Louis  was  listening  with  politeness  to  recitals  with 
which  he  was  qtdte  familiar.  In  words  almost 
identical  with  those  already  repprted  to  her  by 
Louis,  Batchgrew  insisted  on  the  honesty  and  effi- 
ciency of  the  valuer  in  Hanbridge,  a  lifelong  friend 
of  his  own,  who  had  for  a  specially  low  fee  put  a 
price  on  the  house  at  Bycars  and  its  contents  for  the 

24s 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

purpose  of  a  division  between  Louis  and  Julian. 
And  now,  as  previously  with  Louis,  Rachel  failed  to 
comprehend  how  the  valuer,  if  he  had  been  favorably- 
disposed  towards  Louis,  as  Batchgrew  averred,  could 
at  the  same  time  have  behaved  honestly  towards 
Julian.  But  neither  Louis  nor  Batchgrew  seemed  to 
realize  the  point.  They  both  apparently  flattered 
themselves  with  much  simplicity  upon  the  partiality 
of  the  lifelong  friend  and  valuer  for  Louis,  without 
perceiving  the  logical  deduction  that  if  he  was 
partial  he  was  a  rascal.  Further,  Thomas  Batch- 
grew  ''rubbed  Rachel  the  wrong  way"  by  subtly 
emphasizing  his  own  marvelous  abilities  as  a  trustee 
and  executor,  and  by  assuring  Louis  repeatedly  that 
all  conceivable  books  of  account,  correspondence,  and 
documents  were  open  for  his  inspection  at  any  time. 
Batchgrew,  in  Rachel's  opinion,  might  as  well  have 
said,  "You  naturally  suspect  me  of  being  a  knave, 
but  I  can  prove  to  you  that  you  are  wrong." 

Finally,  they  came  to  the  grand  total  of  Louis' 
inheritance,  which  Rachel  had  known  by  heart  for 
several  days  past;  yet  Batchgrew  rolled  it  out  as  a 
piece  of  tremendous  news,  and  immediately  after- 
wards hinted  that  the  sum  represented  less  than  the 
true  worth  of  Louis'  inheritance,  aiid  that  he,  Batch*/: 
grew,  as  well  as  his  lifelong  friend  the  valuer,  had 
been  influenced  by  a  partiality  for  Louis.  For 
example,  he  had  contrived  to  put  all  the  house  prop- 
erty, except  the  house  at  Bycars,  into  Julian's  share; 
which  was  extremely  advantageous  for  Louis  be- 
cause the  federation  of  the  Five  Towns  into  one 
borough  had  rendered  property  values  the  most 
capricious  and  least  calculable  of  all  worldly  pos- 
sessions. .  .  .  And  Louis  tried  to  smile  knowingly  at 

246 


THE    CHASM 

the  knowing  trustee  and  executor  with  his  amiable 
partiality  for  one  legatee  as  against  the  other. 
Louis'  share,  beyond  the  Bycars  house,  was  in  the 
gilt-edged  stock  of  limited  companies  which  sold 
water  and  other  necessaries  of  life  to  the  public  on 
their  own  terms. 

Rachel  left  the  pair  for  a  moment,  and  returned 
from  up-stairs  with  a  gray  jacket  of  Louis'  from  which 
she  had  to  unstitch  the  black  cr6pe  armlet  an- 
nouncing to  the  world  Louis'  grief  for  his  dead 
great-aunt;  the  period  of  mourning  was  long  over, 
and  it  would  not  have  been  quite  nice  for  Louis  to 
continue  announcing  his  grief. 

As  she  came  back  into  the  room  she  heard  the  word 
"debentures,"  and  that  single  word  changed  her 
mood  instantly  from  bland  feminine  toleration  to 
porcupinish  defensiveness.  She  did  not,  as  a  fact, 
know  what  debentures  were.  She  could  not  for  a 
fortune  have  defined  the  difference  between  a  deben- 
ture and  a  share.  She  only  knew  that  debentures 
were  connected  with  "limited  companies" — not 
waterworks  companies,  which  she  classed  with  the 
Bank  of  England — but  just  any  limited  companies, 
which  were  in  her  mind  a  bottomless  pit  for  the 
savings  of  the  foolish.  She  had  an  idea  that  a 
debenture  was,  if  anything,  more  fatal  than  a  share. 
She  was,  of  course,  quite  wrong,  according  to  general 
principles;  but,  unfortunately,  women,  as  all  men 
sooner  or  later  learn,  have  a  disconcerting  habit  of 
being  right  in  the  wrong  way  for  the  wrong  reasons. 
In  a  single  moment,  without  justification,  she  had 
in  her  heart  declared  war  on  all  debentures.  And 
as  soon  as  she  gathered  that  Thomas  Batchgrew  was 
suggesting  to   Louis   the  exchange  of   waterworks 

247 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

stock  for  seven  per  cent,  debentures  in  the  United 
Midland  Cinemas  Corporation,  Limited,  she  became 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  her  instinct  about 
debentures  was  but  too  correct.  She  sat  down 
primly,  and  detached  the  armlet,  and  removed  all  the 
bits  of  black  cotton  from  the  sleeve,  and  never  raised 
her  head  nor  offered  a  remark,  but  she  was  furious — 
furious  to  protect  her  husband  against  sharks  and 
against  himself. 

The  conduct  and  demeanor  of  Thomas  Batchgrew 
were  now  explained.  His  visit,  his  flattery,  his 
heartiness,  his  youthfulness,  all  had  a  motive.  He 
had  safeguarded  Louis'  interests  under  the  will  in 
order  to  rob  him  afterwards  as  a  cinematograph 
speculator.  The  thing  was  as  clear  as  daylight. 
And  yet  Louis  did  not  seem  to  see  it.  Louis  listened 
to  Batchgrew's  ingenious  arguments  with  naive  in- 
terest and  was  obviously  impressed.  When  Batch- 
grew  called  him  "a  business  man  as  smart  as  they 
make  'em,"  and  then  proved  that  the  money  so 
invested  would  be  as  safe  as  in  a  stocking,  Louis 
agreed  with  a  great  air  of  acumen  that  certainly  it 
would.  When  Batchgrew  pointed  out  that,  under 
the  proposed  new  investment,  Louis  would  be 
receiving  in  income  thirty  or  thirty-five  shillings  for 
every  pound  under  the  old  investments,  Louis'  eye 
glistened — positively  glistened!  Rachel  trembled. 
She  saw  her  husband  beggared,  and  there  was  nothing 
that  frightened  her  more  than  the  prospect  of  Louis 
without  a  reserve  of  private  income.  She  did  not 
argue  the  position — she  simply  knew  that  Louis 
without  sure  resources  behind  him  would  be  a  very 
dangerous  and  uncertain  Louis,  perhaps  a  tragic 
Louis.     She  frankly  admitted  this  to  herself.     And 

248 


THE    CHASM 

old  Batchgrew  went  on  talking  and  inveigling  until 
Rachel  was  ready  to  believe  that  the  device  of 
debentures  had  been  originally  invented  by  Thomas 
Batchgrew  himself  with  felonious  intent. 

An  automobile  hooted  in  the  street. 

1 1 Well,  yell  think  it  over,"  said  Thomas  Batch- 
grew. 

"Oh  I  willl"  said  Louis,  eagerly. 

And  Rachel  asked  herself,  almost  shaking: 

"Is  it  possible  that  he  is  such  a  simpleton?" 

"Only  I  must  know  by  Tuesday,"  said  Thomas 
Batchgrew.  "I  thought  I'd  give  ye  th'  chance,  but 
I  can't  keep  it  open  later  than  Tuesday." 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  said  Louis.  "I'm  very  much 
obliged  for  the  offer.  I'll  let  you  know — before 
Tuesday." 

Rachel  frowned  as  she  folded  up  the  jacket.  If, 
however,  the  two  men  could  have  seen  into  her 
mind  they  would  have  perceived  symptoms  of  danger 
jnore  agitating  than  one  little  frown. 

"Of  course,"  said  Thomas  Batchgrew,  easily,  with 
a  short  laugh,  in  the  lobby,  "if  it  hadna  been  for 
her  making  away  with  that  nine  hundred  and  sixty- 
odd  pound,  you'd  ha'  had  a  round  sum  o'  thousands 
to  invest.  I've  been  thinking  o'er  that  matter,  and 
all  I  can  see  for  it  is  as  her  must  ha'  thrown  th' 
money  into  th'  fire  in  mistake  for  th'  envelope, 
or  with  th'  envelope.  That's  all  as  I  can  see 
for  it." 

Louis  flushed  slightly  as  he  slapped  his  thigh. 

' ' Never  thought  of  that !"  he  cried.  "It  very  prob- 
ably was  that.     Strange  it  never  occurred  to  me!" 

Rachel  said  nothing.  She  had  extreme  difficulty 
in  keeping  control  of  herself  while  old  Batchgrew, 

249 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

with  numerous  senile  precautions,  took  his  slow 
departure.  She  forgot  that  she  was  a  hostess  and 
a  woman  of  the  world. 


in 

' ' Hello!  What's  that?"  Rachel  asked,  in  a  self- 
conscious  voice,  when  they  were  in  the  parlor  again. 

Louis  had  almost  surreptitiously  taken  an  envelope 
from  his  pocket,  and  was  extracting  a  paper  from  it. 

On  finding  themselves  alone  they  had  not  followed 
their  usual  custom  of  bursting  into  comment,  favor- 
able or  unfavorable,  on  the  departed — a  practice  due 
more  to  a  desire  to  rouse  and  enjoy  each  other's 
individualities  than  to  a  genuine  interest  in  the  third 
person.  Nor  had  they  impulsively  or  deliberately 
kissed,  as  they  were  liable  to  do  after  release  from  a 
spell  of  worldliness.  On  the  contrary,  both  were  still 
constrained,  as  if  the  third  person  were  still  with 
them.  The  fact  was  that  there  were  two  other 
persons  in  the  room,  darkly  discerned  by  Louis  and 
Rachel — namely,  a  different,  inimical  Rachel  and  a 
different,  inimical  Louis.  All  four,  the  seen  and  the 
half-seen,  walked  stealthily,  like  rival  beasts  in  the 
edge  of  the  jungle. 

' '  Oh  I' '  said  Louis  with  an  air  of  nonchalance.  ' '  It 
came  by  the  last  post  while  old  Batch  was  here,  and 
I  just  shoved  it  into  my  pocket." 

The  arrivals  of  the  post  were  always  interesting 
to  them,  for  during  the  weeks  after  marriage  letters 
are  apt  to  be  more  numerous  than  usual,  and  to 
contain  delicate  and  enchanting  surprises.  Both 
of  them  were  always  strictly  ceremonious  in  the 
handling  of  each  other's  letters,  and  yet  both  depre- 

250 


THE   CHASM 

cated  this  ceremoniousness  in  the  beloved.  Louis 
urged  Rachel  to  open  his  letters  without  scruple, 
and  Rachel  did  the  same  to  Louis.  But  both — Louis 
by  chivalry  and  Rachel  by  pride — were  prevented 
from  acting  on  the  invitation.  The  envelope  in 
Louis'  hand  did  not  contain  a  letter,  but  only  a 
circular.  The  fact  that  the  flap  of  the  envelope  was 
unsealed  and  the  stamp  a  mere  halfpenny  ought 
rightly  to  have  deprived  the  packet  of  all  significance 
as  a  subject  of  curiosity.  Nevertheless,  the  different, 
inimical  Rachel,  probably  out  of  sheer  perversity, 
went  up  to  Louis  and  looked  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  read  the  communication,  which  was  a  printed 
circular,  somewhat  yellowed,  with  blanks  neatly 
filled  in,  and  the  whole  neatly  signed  by  a  church- 
warden, informing  Louis  that  his  application  for 
sittings  at  St.  Luke's  Church  (commonly  called  the 
Old  Church)  had  been  granted.  It  is  to  be  noted 
that,  though  applications  for  sittings  in  the  Old 
Church  were  not  overwhelmingly  frequent,  and 
might  indeed  very  easily  have  been  coped  with  by 
means  of  autograph  replies,  the  authorities  had  a 
sufficient  sense  of  dignity  always  to  circularize  the 
applicants. 

This  document,  harmless  enough,  and  surely  a 
proof  of  laudable  aspirations  in  Louis,  gravely  dis- 
pleased the  different,  inimical  Rachel,  and  was  used 
by  her  for  bellicose  purposes. 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  she,  ominously. 

"But  wasn't  it  understood  that  we  were  to  go  to 
the  Old  Church?"  said  the  other  Louis,  full  of 
ingenious  innocence. 

"Oh!     Was  it?" 

"Didn't  I  mention  it?" 
251 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"I  don't  remember." 
"I'm  sure  I  did." 

The  truth  was  that  Louis  had  once  casually 
remarked  that  he  supposed  they  would  attend  the 
Old  Church.  Rachel  would  have  joyously  attended 
any  church  or  any  chapel  with  him.  At  Knype  she 
had  irregularly  attended  the  Bethesda  Chapel — 
sometimes  (in  the  evenings)  with  her  father,  oftener 
alone,  never  with  her  brother.  During  her  brief 
employment  with  Mrs.  Maldon  she  had  been  only 
once  to  a  place  of  worship,  the  new  chapel  in  Moor- 
thorne  Road,  which  was  the  nearest  to  Bycars  and 
had  therefore  been  favored  by  Mrs.  Maldon  when 
her  limbs  were  stiff.  In  the  abstract  she  approved 
of  religious  rites.  Theologically  her  ignorance  was 
such  that  she  could  not  have  distinguished  between 
the  tenets  of  church  and  the  tenets  of  chapel,  and 
this  ignorance  she  shared  with  the  large  majority  of 
the  serious  inhabitants  of  the  Five  Towns.  Why, 
then,  should  she  have  " pulled  a  face"  (as  the  saying 
down  there  is)  at  the  Old  Parish  Church? 

One  reason,  which  would  have  applied  equally  to 
church  or  chapel,  was  that  she  was  disconcerted  and 
even  alarmed  by  Louis'  manifest  tendency  to  settle 
down  into  utter  correctness.  Louis  had  hitherto 
been  a  devotee  of  joy — never  as  a  bachelor  had  he 
done  aught  to  increase  the  labor  of  church-wardens 
— and  it  was  somehow  as  a  devotee  of  joy  that 
Rachel  had  married  him.  Rachel  had  been  settled 
down  all  her  life,  and  naturally  desired  and  expected 
that  an  unsettling  process  should  now  occur  in  her 
career.  It  seemed  to  her  that  in  mere  decency  Louis 
might  have  allowed  at  any  rate  a  year  or  two  to 
pass  before  occupying  himself  so  stringently  with 

252 


THE    CHASM 

her  eternal  welfare.  She  belonged  to  the  middle 
class  (intermediate  between  the  industrial  and  the 
aristocratic  employing)  which  is  responsible  for  the 
Five  Towns'  reputation  for  joylessness,  the  class 
which  sticks  its  chin  out  and  gets  things  done  (how- 
ever queer  the  things  done  may  be),  the  class  which 
keeps  the  district  together  and  maintains  its  solidity, 
the  class  which  is  ashamed  of  nothing  but  idleness, 
frank  enjoyment,  and  the  caprice  of  the  moment. 
(Its  idiomatic  phrase  for  expressing  the  experience 
of  gladness,  "I  sang  'O  be  joyful/"  alone  demon- 
strates its  unwillingness  to  rejoice.)  She  had  es- 
poused the  hedonistic  class  (always  secretly  envied 
by  the  other),  and  Louis'  behavior  as  a  member  of 
that  class  had  already  begun  to  disappoint  her. 
Was  it  fair  of  him  to  say  in  his  conduct:  "The  fun 
is  over.  We  must  be  strictly  conventional  now"? 
His  costly  caprices  for  Llandudno  and  the  pleasures 
of  idleness  were  quite  beside  the  point. 

Another  reason  for  her  objection  to  Louis'  over- 
tures to  the  Old  Church  was  that  they  increased  her 
suspicion  of  his  snobbishness.  No  person  nourished 
from  infancy  in  chapel  can  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  the  chief  motive  of  church-goers  is  not  the 
snobbish  motive  of  social  propriety.  And  dissenters 
are  so  convinced  that,  if  chapel  means  salvation  in 
the  next  world,  church  means  salvation  in  this,  that 
to  this  day,  regardless  of  the  feelings  of  their  pastors, 
they  will  go  to  church  once  in  their  lives — to  get 
married.  At  any  rate,  Rachel  was  positively  sure 
that  no  anxiety  about  his  own  soul  or  about  hers 
had  led  Louis  to  join  the  Old  Church. 

"Have  you  been  confirmed?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Louis  replied,  politely. 
253 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

She  did  not  like  that  "of  course.' ' 
"Shall  I  have  to  be?" 
"I  don't  know." 

"Well,"  said  she,  "I  can  tell  you  one  thing — I 
sha'n't  be," 

IV 

Rachel  went  on : 

"You  aren't  really  going  to  throw  your  money 
away  on  those  debenture  things  of  Mr.  Batchgrew's, 
are  you?"  • 

Louis  now  knew  the  worst;  and  he  had  been 
suspecting  it.  Rachel's  tone  fully  displayed  her 
sentiments,  and  completed  the  disclosure  that  "the 
little  thing"  was  angry  and  aggressive.  (In  his 
mind  Louis  regarded  her,  at  moments,  as  "the  little 
thing.")  But  his  own  politeness  was  so  profoundly 
rooted  that  practically  no  phenomenon  of  rudeness 
could  overthrow  it. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  'throw  my 
money  away'  on  them." 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  she  said,  affecting  not  to 
perceive  his  drift.     "I  thought  you  were." 

"But  I  propose  to  put  my  money  into  them,  sub- 
ject to  anything  you,  as  a  financial  expert,  may  have 
to  say." 

Nervously  she  had  gone  to  the  window  and  was 
pretending  to  straighten  a  blind. 

"I  don't  think  you  need  to  make  fun  of  me,"  she 
said.  "You  think  I  don't  notice  when  you  make 
fun  of  me.     But  I  do — always." 

"Look  here,  young  'un,"  Louis  suddenly  began 
to  cajole,  very  winningly. 

"I'm  about  as  old  as  you  are,"  said  she,  "And 
*54 


THE    CHASM 

perhaps  in  some  ways  a  bit  older.  And  I  must  say 
I  really  wonder  at  you  being  ready  to  help  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  after  the  way  he  insulted  me  in  the  cinema.'  ■ 

"Insulted  you  in  the  cinema !"  Louis  cried, 
genuinely  startled,  and  then  somewhat  hurt  because 
Rachel  argued  like  a  woman  instead  of  like  a  man. 
In  reflecting  upon  the  excellences  of  Rachel  he  had 
often  said  to  himself  that  her  unique  charm  con- 
sisted in  the  fact  that  she  combined  the  attractive- 
ness of  woman  with  the  powerful  common  sense  of 
man.  In  common  with  a  whole  enthusiastic  army 
of  young  husbands  he  had  been  convinced  that  his 
wife  was  the  one  female  creature  on  earth  to  whom 
you  could  talk  as  you  would  to  a  male.  "Oh!"  he 
murmured. 

"Have  you  forgotten  it,  then?"  she  asked,  coldly. 
To  herself  she  was  saying:  "Why  am  I  behaving  like 
this?  After  all,  he's  done  no  harm  yet."  But  she 
had  set  out,  and  she  must  continue,  driven  by  the 
terrible  fear  of  what  he  might  do.  She  stared  at  the 
blind.  Through  a  slit  of  window  at  one  side  of  it 
she  could  see  the  lamp-post  and  the  iron  kerb  of  the 
pavement. 

"But  that's  all  over  long  ago,"  he  protested, 
amiably.  "Just  look  how  friendly  you  were  with 
him  yourself  over  supper!     Besides — " 

"Besides  what?  I  wasn't  friendly.  I  was  only 
polite.  I  had  to  be.  Nobody's  called  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  worse  names  than  you  have.  But  you  forget. 
Only  I  don't  forget.  There's  lots  of  things  I  don't 
forget,  although  I  don't  make  a  song  about  them. 
I  sha'n't  forget  in  a  hurry  how  you  let  go  of  my  bike 
without  telling  me  and  I  fell  all  over  the  road.  I 
know  I'm  lots  more  black  and  blue  even  than  I  was." 

255 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

If  Rachel  would  but  have  argued  according  to  his 
rules  of  debate,  Louis  was  confident  that  he  could 
have  conducted  the  affair  to  a  proper  issue.  But  she 
would  not.  What  could  he  say?  In  a  flash  he  saw 
a  vista  of,  say,  forty  years  of  conjugal  argument  with 
a  woman  incapable  of  reason,  and  trembled.  Then 
he  looked  again,  and  saw  the  lines  of  Rachel's  figure 
in  her  delightful  short  skirt  and  was  reassured.  But 
still  he  did  not  know  what  to  say.  Rachel  spared 
him  further  cogitation  on  that  particular  aspect  of 
the  question  by  turning  round  and  exclaiming,  pas- 
sionately, with  a  break  in  her  voice : 

"Can't  you  see  that  he'll  swindle  you  out  of  the 
money?" 

It  seemed  to  her  that  the  security  of  their  whole 
future  depended  on  her  firmness  and  strong  sagacity 
at  that  moment.  She  felt  herself  to  be  very  wise 
and  also,  happily,  very  vigorous.  But  at  the  same 
time  she  was  afflicted  by  a  kind  of  despair  at  the 
thought  that  Louis  had  indeed  been,  and  still  was, 
ready  to  commit  the  disastrous  folly  of  confiding 
money  to  Thomas  Batchgrew  for  investment.  And 
as  Louis  had  had  a  flashing  vision  of  the  future,  so  did 
Rachel  now  have  such  a  vision.  But  hers  was  more 
terrible  than  his.  Louis  foresaw  merely  vexation. 
Rachel  foresaw  ruin  doubtfully  staved  off  by  eternal 
vigilance  on  her  part  and  by  nothing  else — an  in- 
stant's sleepiness,  and  they  might  be  in  the  gutter 
and  she  the  wife  of  a  ne'er-do-well.  She  perceived 
that  she  must  be  reconciled  to  a  future  in  which 
the  strain  of  intense  vigilance  could  never  once  be 
relaxed.  Strange  that  a  creature  so  young  and 
healthy  and  in  love  should  be  so  pessimistic,  but 
thus  it  was!    She  remembered  in  spite  of  herself 

256 


THE    CHASM 

the  warnings  against  Louis  which  she  had  been  com- 
pelled to  listen  to  in  the  previous  year. 

"Odd,  of  course !"  said  Louis.  "But  I  can't 
exactly  see  how  he'll  swindle  me  out  of  the  money! 
A  debenture  is  a  debenture.' ' 

"Is  it?" 

"Do  you  know  what  a  debenture  is,  my  child?" 

"I  don't  need  to  know  what  a  debenture  is,  when 
Mr.  Batchgrew's  mixed  up  in  it." 

Louis  suppressed  a  sigh.  He  first  thought  of  try- 
ing to  explain  to  her  just  what  a  debenture  was. 
Then  he  abandoned  the  enterprise  as  too  compli- 
cated, and  also  as  futile.  Though  he  should  prove 
to  her  that  a  debenture  combined  the  safety  of  the 
Bank  of  England  with  the  brilliance  of  a  successful 
gambling  transaction,  she  would  not  budge.  He 
was  acquiring  valuable  and  painful  knowledge  con- 
cerning women  every  second.  He  grew  sad,  not 
simply  with  the  weight  of  this  new  knowledge,  but 
more  because,  though  he  had  envisaged  certain 
difficulties  of  married  existence,  he  had  not  envisaged 
this  difficulty.  He  had  not  dreamed  that  a  wife 
would  demand  a  share,  and  demand  it  furiously,  in 
the  control  of  his  business  affairs.  He  had  sincerely 
imagined  that  wives  listened  with  much  respect 
and  little  comprehension  when  business  was  on  the 
carpet,  content  to  murmur  soothingly  from  time  to 
time,  "Just  as  you  think  best,  dear."  Life  had  un- 
pleasantly astonished  him. 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  to  say  to  Rachel, 
with  steadying  f acetiousness : 

"You  mustn't  forget  that  I  know  a  bit  about  these 
things,  having  spent  years  of  my  young  life  in  a 
bank." 

17  257 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

But  a  vague  instinct  told  him  that  to  draw  at- 
tention to  his  career  in  the  bank  might  be  unwise — 
at  any  rate,  in  principle. 

"Can't  you  see,"  Rachel  charged  again,  "that 
Mr.  Batchgrew  has  only  been  flattering  you  all  this 
time  so  as  to  get  hold  of  your  money?  And  wasn't 
it  just  like  him  to  begin  again  harping  on  the  elec- 
tricity ?" 

"Flattering  me?" 

"Well,  he  couldn't  bear  you  before — if  you'd  only 
heard  the  things  he  used  to  say ! — and  now  he  simply 
licks  your  boots." 

"What  things  did  he  say?"  Louis  asked,  dis- 
turbed. 

"Oh,  never  mind!" 

Louis  became  rather  glum  and  obstinate. 

"The  money  will  be  perfectly  safe,"  he  insisted. 
"And  our  income  pretty  nearly  doubled.  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  know  more  about  these  things  than  you." 

"What's  the  use  of  income  being  doubled  if  you 
lose  the  capital?"  Rachel  snapped,  now  taking  a  hor- 
rid perverse  pleasure  in  the  perilous  altercation. 
"And  if  it's  so  safe  why  is  he  ready  to  give  you  so 
much  interest?" 

The  worst  of  women,  Louis  reflected,  is  that  in  the 
midst  of  a  silly  argument  that  you  can  shatter 
in  ten  words  they  will  by  a  fluke  insert  some  awk- 
ward piece  of  genuine  ratiocination,  the  answer  to 
which  must  necessarily  be  lengthy  and  ineffective. 

"It's  no  good  arguing,"  he  said,  pleasantly,  and 
then  repeated,  "I  ought  to  know  more  about  these 
things  than  you." 

Rachel  raised  her  voice  in  exasperation : 

"I  don't  see  it.  I  don't  see  it  at  all.  If  it  hadn't 
258 


THE    CHASM 

been  for  me  you'd  have  thrown  up  your  situation — 
and  a  nice  state  of  affairs  there  would  have  been 
then!  And  how  much  money  would  you  have 
wasted  on  holidays  and  so  on  and  so  on  if  I  hadn't 
stopped  you,  I  should  like  to  know!" 

Louis  was  still  more  astonished.  Indeed,  he  was 
rather  nettled.  His  urbanity  was  unimpaired,  but 
he  permitted  himself  a  slight  acidity  of  tone  as  he 
retorted  with  gentle  malice: 

"Well,  you  can't  help  the  color  of  your  hair.  So 
I'll  keep  my  nerve." 

"I  didn't  expect  to  be  insulted!"  cried  Rachel, 
flushing  far  redder  than  that  rich  hair  of  hers.  And 
paced  pompously  out  of  the  room,  her  face  working 
violently.  The  door  was  ajar.  She  passed  Mrs. 
Tarns  on  the  stairs,  blindly,  with  lowered  head. 

v 

In  the  conjugal  bedroom,  full  of  gas-glare  and 
shadows,  there  were  two  old  women.  One  was  Mrs. 
Tarns,  ministering;  the  other  was  Rachel  Fores, 
once  and  not  long  ago  the  beloved  and  courted  girl- 
ish Louise  of  a  chevalier,  now  aged  by  all  the  sorrow 
of  the  world.  She  lay  in  bed — in  her  bed  nearest 
the  fireplace  and  farthest  from  the  door. 

She  had  undressed  herself  with  every  accustomed 
ceremony,  arranging  each  article  of  attire,  including 
the  fine  frock  left  on  the  bed,  carefully  in  its  place,  as 
is  meet  in  a  chamber  where  tidiness  depends  on  the 
loyal  co-operation  of  two  persons,  but  through  her 
tears.  She  had  slipped  sobbing  into  bed.  The 
other  bed  was  empty,  and  its  emptiness  seemed 
sinister  to  her.    Would  it  ever  be  occupied  again? 

259 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Impossible  that  it  should  ever  be  occupied  again! 
Its  rightful  occupant  was  immeasurably  far  off,  along 
miles  of  passages,  down  leagues  of  stairs,  separated 
by  impregnable  doors,  in  another  universe,  the  uni- 
verse of  the  ground  floor.  Of  course  she  might  have 
sprung  up,  put  on  her  enchanting  dressing-gown, 
tripped  down  a  few  steps  in  a  moment  of  time,  and 
peeped  in  at  the  parlor  door — just  peeped,  in  that 
magic  ribboned  peignoir,  and  glanced — and  the 
whole  planet  would  have  been  reborn.  But  she 
could  not.  If  the  salvation  of  the  human  race  had 
depended  on  it,  she  could  not — partly  because  she 
was  a  native  of  the  Five  Towns,  where  such  things 
are  not  done,  and  no  doubt  partly  because  she  was 
just  herself. 

She  was  now  more  grieved  than  angry  with  Louis. 
He  had  been  wrong;  he  was  a  foolish,  unreliable  boy 
— but  he  was  a  boy.  Whereas  she  was  his  mother, 
and  ought  to  have  known  better.  Yes,  she  had  be- 
come his  mother  in  the  interval.  For  herself  she 
experienced  both  pity  and  anger.  What  angered 
her  was  her  clumsiness.  Why  had  she  lost  Her 
temper  and  her  head?  She  saw  clearly  how  she 
might  have  brought  him  round  to  her  view  with 
a  soft  phrase,  a  peculiar  inflection,  a  tiny  appeal, 
a  caress,  a  mere  dimpling  of  the  cheek.  She  saw 
him  revolving  on  her  little  finger.  .  .  .  She  knew 
all  things  now  because  she  was  so  old.  And  then 
suddenly  she  was  bathing  luxuriously  in  self-pity, 
and  young  and  imperious,  and  violently  resentful 
of  the  insult  which  he  had  put  upon  her — an  insult 
which  recalled  the  half -forgotten  humiliations  of  her 
school-days,  when  loutish  girls  had  baptized  her 
with  the  name  of  a  vegetable.  .  .  .  And  then,  again, 

260 


THE    CHASM 

suddenly,  she  deeply  desired  that  Louis  should  come 
up-stairs  and  bully  her. 

!  She  attached  a  superstitious  and  terrible  impor- 
tance to  the  tragical  episode  in  the  parlor  because  it 
was  their  first  quarrel  as  husband  and  wife.  True, 
she  had  stormed  at  him  before  their  engagement, 
but  even  then  he  had  kept  intact  his  respect  for 
her,  whereas  now,  a  husband,  he  had  shamed  her. 
The  breach,  she  knew,  could  never  be  closed.  She 
had  only  to  glance  at  the  empty  bed  to  be  sure  that 
it  was  eternal.  It  had  been  made  slowly  and  yet 
swiftly;  and  it  was  complete  and  unbridgable  ere 
she  had  realized  its  existence.  When  she  contrasted 
the  idyllic  afternoon  with  the  tragedy  of  the  night, 
she  was  astounded  by  the  swiftness  of  the  change. 
The  catastrophe  lay,  not  in  the  threatened  loss  of 
vast  sums  of  money  and  consequent  ruin — that 
had  diminished  to  insignificance !  —  but  in  the 
breach. 

And  then  Mrs.  Tarns  had  inserted  herself  in  the 
bedroom.  Mrs.  Tarns  knew  or  guessed  everything. 
And  she  would  not  pretend  th&t  she  did  not;  and 
Rachel  would  not  pretend — did  not  even  care  to 
pretend,  for  Mrs.  Tarns  was  so  unimportant  that 
nobody  minded  her.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  heard  and  seen. 
She  commiserated.  She  stroked  timidly  with  her 
gnarled  hand  the  short,  fragile  sleeve  of  the  night- 
gown, whereat  Rachel  sobbed  afresh,  with  more 
plenteous  tears,  and  tried  to  articulate  a  word,  and 
could  not  till  the  third  attempt.  The  word  was 
" handkerchief.' '  She  was  not  weeping  in  comfort. 
Mrs.  Tarns  was  aware  of  the  right  drawer  and  drew 
from  it  a  little  white  thing — yet  not  so  little,  for 
Rachel  was  Rachel! — and  shook  out  its  quadrangular 

261 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

folds,  and  it  seemed  beautiful  in  the  gaslight;   and 
Rachel  took  it  and  sobbed  " Thank  you." 

Mrs.  Tarns  rose  higher  then  even  than  a  general 
servant;  she  was  the  soubrette,  the  confidential 
maid,  the  very  echo  of  the  young  and  haughty  mis- 
tress, leagued  with  the  worshiped  creature  against 
the  wickedness  and  wile  of  a  whole  sex.  Mrs.  Tarns 
had  no  illusions  save  the  sublime  illusion  that  her 
mistress  was  an  angel  and  a  martyr.  Mrs.  Tarns 
had  been  married,  and  she  had  seen  a  daughter  mar- 
ried. She  was  an  authority  on  first  quarrels  and 
could  and  did  tell  tales  of  first  quarrels — tales  in 
which  the  husband,  while  admittedly  an  utterly 
callous  monster,  had  at  the  same  time  somehow  some 
leaven  of  decency.  Soon  she  was  launched  in  the 
epic  recital  of  the  birth  and  death  of  a  grandchild; 
Rachel,  being  a  married  woman  like  the  rest,  could 
properly  listen  to  every  interesting  and  recondite 
detail.  Rachel  sobbed  and  sympathized  with  the 
classic  tale.  And  both  women,  as  it  was  unrolled, 
kept  well  in  their  minds  the  vision  of  the  vile  man, 
mysterious  and  implacable,  alone  in  the  parlor. 
Occasionally  Mrs.  Tarns  listened  for  a  footstep,  ready 
discreetly  to  withdraw  at  the  slightest  symptom  on 
the  stairs.  Once  when  she  did  this,  Rachel  mur- 
mured, weakly,  "He  won't — "  And  then  lapsed 
into  new  weeping.  And  after  a  little  time  Mrs. 
Tarns  departed. 

VI 

Mrs.  Tarns  had  decided  to  undertake  an  enterprise 
involving  extreme  gallantry — surpassing  the  physi- 
cal. She  went  down-stairs  and  stood  outside  the 
parlor  door,  which  was  not  quite  shut.     Within  the 

262 


THE    CHASM 

parlor,  or  throne-room,  existed  a  beautiful  and  su- 
perior being,  full  of  grace  and  authority,  who  be- 
longed to  a  race  quite  different  from  her  own,  who 
was  beyond  her  comprehension,  who  commanded  her 
and  kept  her  alive  and  paid  money  to  her,  who  ac- 
cepted her  devotion  casually  as  a  right,  who  treated 
her  as  a  soft  cushion  between  herself  and  the  drift 
and  inconvenience  of  the  world,  and  who  occasionally, 
as  a  supreme  favor,  caught  her  a  smart  slap  on  the 
back,  which  flattered  her  to  excess.  She  went  into 
the  throne-room  if  she  was  called  thither,  or  if  she 
had  cleansing  or  tidying  work  there;  she  spoke  to 
the  superior  being  if  he  spoke  to  her.  But  she  had 
never  till  then  conceived  the  breath-taking  scheme 
of  entering  the  throne-room  for  a  purpose  of  her  own, 
and  addressing  the  superior  being  without  an  invita- 
tion to  do  so. 

Nevertheless,  since  by  long  practice  she  was  cour- 
ageous, she  meant  to  execute  the  scheme.  And 
she  began  by  knocking  at  the  door.  Although 
Rachel  had  seriously  warned  her  that  for  a  domestic 
servant  to  knock  at  the  parlor  door  was  a  grave  sin, 
she  simply  could  not  help  knocking.  Not  to  knock 
seemed  to  her  wantonly  sacrilegious.  Thus  she 
knocked,  and  a  voice  told  her  to  come  in. 

There  was  the  superior  being,  his  back  to  the  fire 
and  his  legs  apart — formidable ! 

She  courtesied — another  sin  according  to  the  new 
code.  Then  she  discovered  that  she  was  inarticu- 
late. 

"Well?" 

Words  burst  from  her : 

"Her's  crying  her  eyes  out  up  yon,  mester." 

And  Mrs.  Tarns  also  sniveled. 
263 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

The  superior  being  frowned  and  said,  testily,  yet 
not  without  a  touch  of  careless  toleration : 

"Oh,  get  away,  you  silly  old  fool  of  a  woman!" 

Mrs.  Tarns  got  away,  not  entirely  ill-content. 

In  the  lobby  she  heard  an  unusual  rapping  on  the 
glass  of  the  front  door,  and  sharply  opened  to  inform 
the  late  disturber  that  there  existed  a  bell  and  a 
knocker  for  respectable  people.  A  shabby  youth 
gave  her  a  note  for  "Louis  Fores,  Esq.,"  and  said 
that  there  was  an  answer.  So  that  she  was  forced  to 
renew  the  enterprise  of  entering  the  throne-room. 

In  another  couple  of  minutes  Louis  was  running 
up-stairs.  His  wife  heard  him,  and  shook  in  bed 
from  excitement  at  the  crisis  which  approached. 
But  she  could  never  have  divined  the  nature  of  the 
phenomenon  by  which  the  unbridgable  breach  was 
about  to  be  closed. 

"Louise!" 

"Yes,"  she  whimpered.  Then  she  ventured  to  spy 
at  his  face  through  an  interstice  of  the  bedclothes, 
and  saw  thereon  a  most  queer,  white  expression. 

"Some  one's  just  brought  this.     Read  it." 

He  gave  her  the  note,  and  she  deciphered  it  as 
well  as  she  could: 

Dear  Louis, — If  you  aren't  gone  to  bed  I  want  to  see 
you  to-night  about  that  missing  money  of  aunt's.  I've  some- 
thing I  must  tell  you  and  Rachel.     I'm  at  the  Three  Tuns. 

Julian  Maldon. 

"But  what  does  he  mean?"  demanded  Rachel, 
roused  from  her  heavy  mood  of  self-pity. 
"I  don't  know." 

"But  what  can  he  mean?"  she  insisted. 
"Haven't  a  notion." 

264 


THE    CHASM 

"But  he  must  mean  something !" 

Louis  asked : 

"Well,  what  should  you  say  he  means?" 

"How  very  strange!"  Rachel  murmured,  not  at- 
tempting to  answer  the  question.  "And  the  Three 
Tuns!  Why  does  he  write  from  the  Three  Tuns? 
What's  he  doing  at  the  Three  Tuns?  Isn't  it  a  very 
low  public  house?  And  everybody  thought  he  was 
still  in  South  Africa!  ...  I  suppose  then  it  must 
have  been  him  that  we  saw  to-night." 

"You  may  bet  it  was." 

"Then  why  didn't  he  come  straight  here?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know.  He  couldn't  have  called 
before  we  got  here,  because  if  he  had  Mrs.  Tarns 
would  have  told  us." 

Louis  nodded. 

"Didn't  you  think  Mr.  Batchgrew  looked  very 
queer  when  you  mentioned  Julian  to-night  ?"  Rachel 
continued  to  express  her  curiosity  and  wonder. 

"No.  I  didn't  notice  anything  particular,"  Louis 
replied,  vaguely. 

Throughout  the  conversation  his  manner  was  self- 
conscious.  Rachel  observed  it,  while  feigning  the 
contrary,  and  in  her  turn  grew  uneasy  and  even 
self-conscious  also.  Further,  she  had  the  feeling  that 
Louis  was  depending  upon  her  for  support,  and 
perhaps  for  initiative.  His  glance,  though  furtive, 
had  the  appealing  quality  which  rendered  him  some- 
times so  exquisitely  wistful  to  her.  As  he  stood  over 
her  by  the  bed,  he  made  a  peculiar  compound  of 
the  negligent,  dominant  masculine  and  the  clinging 
feminine. 

"And  why  didn't  he  let  anybody  know  of  his 
return?"  Rachel  went  on. 

265 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Louis,  veering  towards  the  masculine,  clenched  the 
immediate  point : 

4 'The  question  before  the  meeting  is,"  he  smiled, 
demurely,  "what  answer  am  I  to  send?" 

"I  suppose  you  must  see  him  to-night." 

"Nothing  else  for  it,  is  there?  Well,  111  scribble 
him  a  bit  of  a  note." 

"But  I  sha'n't  see  him,  Louis." 

"No?" 

In  an  instant  Rachel  thought  to  herself:  "He 
doesn't  want  me  to  see  him." 

Aloud  she  said:  "I  should  have  to  dress  myself 
all  over  again.     Besides,  I'm  not  fit  to  be  seen." 

She  was  referring,  without  any  apparent  sort  of 
shame,  to  the  redness  of  her  eyes. 

"Well,  I'll  see  him  by  myself,  then." 

Louis  turned  to  leave  the  bedroom.  Whereat 
Rachel  was  very  disconcerted  and  disappointed. 
Although  the  startling  note  from  Julian  had  alarmed 
her  and  excited  in  her  profound  apprehensions  whose 
very  nature  she  would  scarcely  admit  to  herself,  the 
main  occupation  of  her  mind  was  still  her  own 
quarrel  with  Louis.  The  quarrel  was  now  over,  for 
they  had  conversed  in  quite  sincere  tones  of  friendli- 
ness, but  she  had  desired  and  expected  an  overt 
tangible  proof  and  symbol  of  peace.  That  proof  and 
symbol  was  a  kiss. 

Louis  was  at  the  door  ...  he  was  beyond  the 
door  .  .  .  she  was  lost. 

"Louis!"  she  cried. 

He  put  his  face  in  at  the  door. 

"Will  you  just  pass  me  my  hand-mirror.  It's  on 
the  dressing-table." 

Louis  was  thrilled  by  this  simple  request.     The 

266 


THE    CHASM 

hand-mirror  had  arrived  in  the  house  as  a  wedding- 
present.  It  was  backed  with  tortoise-shell,  and 
seemingly  the  one  thing  that  had  reconciled  Rachel 
the  downright  to  the  possession  of  a  hand-mirror  was 
the  fact  that  the  tortoise-shell  was  real  tortoise-shell. 
She  had  "made  out"  that  a  hand-mirror  was  too 
frivolous  an  object  for  the  dressing-table  of  a  serious 
Five  Towns  woman.  She  had  always  referred  to  it 
as  "the"  hand-mirror — as  though  disdaining  special 
ownership.  She  had  derided  it  once  by  using  it  in 
front  of  Louis  with  the  mimic  foolish  graces  of  an 
empty-headed  doll.  And  now  she  was  asking  for  it 
because  she  wanted  it;  and  she  had  said  "my"  hand- 
mirror! 

This  revelation  of  the  odalisque  in  his  Rachel 
enchanted  Louis,  and  incidentally  it  also  enchanted 
Rachel.  She  had  employed  a  desperate  remedy,  and 
the  result  on  both  of  them  filled  her  with  a  most 
surprising  gladness.  Louis  judged  it  to  be  deliciously 
right  that  Rachel  should  be  anxious  to  know  whether 
her  weeping  had  indeed  made  her  into  an  object 
improper  for  the  beholding  of  the  male  eye,  and 
Rachel  to  her  astonishment  shared  his  opinion.  She 
was  "vain,"  and  they  were  both  well  content.  In 
taking  it  she  touched  his  hand.  He  bent  and  kissed 
her.  Each  of  them  was  ravaged  by  formidable  fears 
for  the  future,  tremendously  disturbed  in  secret  by 
the  mysterious  word  from  Julian;  and  yet  that  kiss 
stood  unique  among  their  kisses,  and  in  their  sim- 
plicity they  knew  not  why.  And  as  they  kissed  they 
hated  Julian,  and  the  past,  and  the  whole  world,  for 
thus  coming  between  them  and  deranging  their  love. 
They  would,  had  it  been  possible,  have  sold  all  the 
future  for  tranquillity  in  that  moment. 

267 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 


VII 

Going  down-stairs,  Louis  found  Mrs.  Tarns  stand- 
ing in  the  back  part  of  the  lobby  between  the  parlor 
door  and  the  kitchen;  obviously  she  had  stationed 
herself  there  in  order  to  keep  watch  on  the  messenger 
from  the  Three  Tuns.  As  the  master  of  the  house 
approached  with  dignity  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  the 
messenger  stirred,  and  in  the  classic  manner  of 
messengers  fingered  uneasily  his  hat.  The  fingers 
were  dirty.  The  hat  was  dirty  and  shabby.  It  had 
been  somebody  else's  hat  before  coming  into  the 
possession  of  the  messenger.  The  same  applied  to 
his  jacket  and  trousers.  The  jacket  was  well  cut, 
but  green;  the  trousers  with  their  ragged,  muddy 
edges  yet  betrayed  a  pattern  of  distinction.  Round 
his  neck  the  messenger  wore  a  thin  muffler,  and  on 
his  feet  an  exhausted  pair  of  tennis-shoes.  These 
noiseless  shoes  accentuated  and  confirmed  the 
stealthy  glance  of  his  eyes.  Except  for  an  unshaven 
chin,  and  the  confidence-destroying  quality  that 
lurked  subtly  in  his  aspect,  he  was  not  repulsive  to 
look  upon.  His  features  were  delicate  enough,  his 
restless  mouth  was  even  pretty,  and  his  carriage 
graceful.  He  had  little  of  the  coarseness  of  indus- 
trialism— probably  because  he  was  not  industrial. 
His  age  was  about  twenty,  and  he  might  have  sold 
Signals  in  the  street,  or  run  illegal  errands  for  street- 
bookmakers.  At  any  rate  it  was  certain  that  he  was 
not  above  earning  a  chance  copper  from  a  customer 
of  the  Three  Tuns.  His  clear  destiny  was  never  to 
inspire  respect  or  trust,  nor  to  live  regularly  (save 
conceivably  in  prison),  nor  to  do  any  honest  daily 

268 


THE    CHASM 

labor.  And  if  he  did  not  know  this,  he  felt  it.  All 
his  movements  were  those  of  an  outcast  who  both 
feared  and  execrated  the  organism  that  was  rejecting 
him. 

Louis,  elegant,  self-possessed,  and  superior,  passed 
into  the  parlor  exactly  as  if  the  messenger  had  been 
invisible.  He  was  separated  from  the  messenger  by 
an  immeasurable  social  prestige.  He  was  raised  to 
such  an  altitude  above  the  messenger  that  he  posi- 
tively could  not  see  the  messenger  with  the  naked 
eye.  And  yet  for  one  fraction  of  a  second  he  had 
the  illusion  of  being  so  intimately  akin  to  the  messen- 
ger that  a  mere  nothing  might  have  pushed  him  into 
those  vile  clothes  and  endowed  him  with  that  furtive 
look  and  that  sinister  aspect  of  a  helot.  For  one 
infinitesimal  instant  he  was  the  messenger;  and 
shuddered.  Then  the  illusion  as  swiftly  faded,  and 
— such  being  Louis1  happy  temperament — was  for- 
gotten. He  disappeared  into  the  parlor,  took  a  piece 
of  paper  and  an  envelope  from  the  small  writing- 
table  behind  Rachel's  chair,  and  wrote  a  short  note 
to  Julian — a  note  from  which  f acetiousness  was  not 
absent — inviting  him  to  come  at  once.  He  rang  the 
bell.  Mrs.  Tarns  entered,  full  of  felicity  because  the 
great  altercation  was  over  and  concord  established. 

"Give  this  to  that  chap,"  said  Louis,  casually  im- 
perative, holding  out  the  note  but  scarcely  glancing 
at  Mrs.  Tarns. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns  with  humble  eagerness, 
content  to  be  a  very  minor  tool  in  the  hidden  designs 
of  the  exalted. 

"And  then  you  can  go  to  bed." 

"Oh!  It's  of  no  consequence,  I'm  sure,  sir,"  Mrs. 
Tarns  answered. 

269 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Louis  heard  her  say  importantly  and  condescend- 
ingly to  the  messenger : 

1 ' Here  ye  are,  young  man." 

She  shut  the  front  door  as  though  much  relieved 
to  get  such  a  source  of  peril  and  infection  out  of  the 
respectable  house. 

Immediately  afterwards,  strange  things  happened 
to  Louis  in  the  parlor.  He  had  intended  to  return 
at  once  to  his  wife  in  order  to  continue  the  vague, 
staggered  conversation  about  Julian's  thunderbolt. 
But  he  discovered  that  he  could  not  persuade  himself 
to  rejoin  Rachel.  A  self -consciousness  growing  every 
moment  more  acute  and  troublesome  prevented  him 
from  so  doing.  He  was  afraid  that  he  could  not 
discuss  the  vanished  money  without  blushing,  and 
it  happened  rarely  that  he  lost  control  of  his  features, 
which  indeed  he  could  as  a  rule  mold  to  the  expression 
of  a  cherub  whenever  desirable.  So  he  sat  down  in 
a  chair,  the  first  chair  to  hand,  any  chair,  and  began 
to  reflect.  Of  course  he  was  safe.  The  greatest 
saint  on  earth  could  not  have  been  safer  than  he  was 
from  conviction  of  a  crime.  He  might  be  suspected, 
but  nothing  could  possibly  be  proved  against  him. 
Moreover,  despite  his  self-consciousness,  he  felt 
innocent;  he  really  did  feel  innocent,  and  even  ill- 
used.  The  money  had  forced  itself  upon  him  in  an 
inexcusable  way;  he  was  convinced  that  he  had 
never  meant  to  misappropriate  it;  assuredly  he  had 
received  not  a  halfpenny  of  benefit  from  it.  The 
fault  was  entirely  the  old  lady's.  Yes,  he  was  in- 
nocent and  he  was  safe. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  at  all  like  the  resuscitation 
of  the  affair.  The  affair  had  been  buried.  How 
characteristic  of  the  inconvenient  Julian  to  rush  in 

270 


THE    CHASM 

from  South  Africa  and  dig  it  up!  Everybody  con- 
cerned had  decided  that  the  old  lady  on  the  night  of 
her  attack  had  not  been  responsible  for  her  actions. 
She  had  annihilated  the  money — whether  by  fire,  as 
Batchgrew  had  lately  suggested,  or  otherwise,  did 
not  matter.  Or,  if  she  had  not  annihilated  the 
money,  she  had  "done  something* ■  with  it — some- 
thing unknown  and  unknowable.  Such  was  the 
acceptable  theory,  in  which  Louis  heartily  con- 
curred. The  loss  was  his — at  least  half  the  loss  was 
his — and  others  had  no  right  to  complain.  But 
Julian  was  without  discretion.  Within  twenty-four 
hours  Julian  might  well  set  the  whole  district  talking. 

Louis  was  dimly  aware  that  the  district  already 
had  talked,  but  he  was  not  aware  to  what  extent  it 
had  talked.  Neither  he  nor  anybody  else  was  aware 
how  the  secret  had  escaped  out  of  the  house.  Mrs. 
Tarns  would  have  died  rather  than  breathe  a  word. 
Rachel,  naturally,  had  said  naught;  nor  had  Louis. 
Old  Batchgrew  had  decided  that  his  highest  interest 
also  was  to  say  naught,  and  he  had  informed  none 
save  Julian.  Julian  might  have  set  the  secret  free 
in  South  Africa,  but  in  a  highly  distorted  form  it  had 
been  current  in  certain  strata  of  Five  Towns  society 
long  before  it  could  have  returned  from  South  Africa. 
The  rough,  common-sense  verdict  of  those  select 
few  who  had  winded  the  secret  was  simply  that 
"there  had  been  some  hanky-panky/'  and  that  be- 
yond doubtT  Louis  was  "at  the  bottom  of  it,"  but 
that  it  had  little  importance,  as  Mrs.  Maldon  was 
dead,  poor  thing.  As  for  Julian,  "a  rough  customer, 
though  honest  as  the  day,"  he  was  reckoned  to  be 
capable  of  protecting  his  own  interests. 

And  then,  amid  all  his  apprehensions,  a  new  hope 
271 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

sprouted  in  Louis*  mind.  Perhaps  Julian  was  ac- 
quainted with  some  fact  that  might  lead  to  the 
recovery  of  a  part  of  the  money.  Had  Louis  not 
always  held  that  the  pile  of  notes  which  had  pene- 
trated into  his  pocket  did  not  represent  the  whole  of 
the  nine  hundred  and  sixty-five  pounds?  Con- 
ceivably it  represented  about  half  of  the  total, 
in  which  case  a  further  sum  of,  say,  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds  might  be  coming  to  Louis. 
Already  he  was  treating  this  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  as  a  windfall,  and  wondering  in  what  most 
pleasant  ways  he  could  employ  it ! .  .  .  But  with  what 
kind  of  fact  could  Julian  be  acquainted?  .  .  .  Had 
Julian  been  dishonest?  Louis  would  have  liked  to 
think  Julian  dishonest,  but  he  could  not.  Then 
what  .  .  .  ? 

He  heard  movements  above.  And  the  front  gate 
creaked.  As  if  a  spring  had  been  loosed,  he  jumped 
from  the  chair  and  ran  up-stairs — away  from  the 
arriving  Julian  and  towards  his  wife.  Rachel  was 
just  getting  up. 

"Don't  trouble,"  he  said.  'Til  see  him.  I'll 
deal  with  him.  Much  better  for  you  to  stay  in 
bed." 

He  perceived  that  he  did  not  want  Rachel  to  hear 
what  Julian  had  to  say  until  after  he  had  heard  it 
himself. 

Rachel  hesitated. 

"Do  you  think  so? .  .  .  What  have  you  been  doing? 
I  thought  you  were  coming  up  again  at  once." 

"I  had  one  or  two  little  things — " 

A  terrific  knock  resounded  on  the  front  door. 

"There  he  is!"  Louis  muttered,  as  it  were,  aghast. 


XI 

julian's  document 


JULIAN  MALDON  faced  Louis  in  the  parlor. 
Louis  had  conducted  him  there  without  the  as- 
sistance of  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  had  been  not  merely 
advised,  but  commanded,  to  go  to  bed.  Julian  had 
entered  the  house  like  an  exasperated  enemy — glum, 
suspicious,  and  ferocious.  His  mien  seemed  to  say: 
'  *  You  wanted  me  to  come,  and  I've  come.  But  mind 
you  don't  drive  me  to  extremities.,,  Impossible  to 
guess  from  his  grim  face  that  he  had  asked  per- 
mission to  come!  Nevertheless  he  had  shaken 
Louis'  hand  with  a  ferocious  sincerity  which  Louis 
felt  keenly  the  next  morning.  He  was  the  same 
Julian  except  that  he  had  grown  a  brown  beard. 
He  had  exactly  the  same  short,  thick-set  figure,  and 
the  same  defiant  stare.  South  Africa  had  not 
changed  him.  No  experience  could  change  him. 
He  would  have  returned  from  ten  years  at  the  North 
Pole  or  at  the  Equator,  with  savages  or  with  uncom- 
promising intellectuals,  just  the  same  Julian.  He 
was  one  of  those  beings  who  are  violently  themselves 
all  the  time.  By  some  characteristic  social  clumsi- 
ness he  had  omitted  to  remove  his  overcoat  in  the 
lobby.  And  now,  in  the  parlor,  he  could  not  get  it 
18  273 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

off.  As  a  man  seated,  engaged  in  conversation  by 
a  woman  standing,  forgets  to  rise  at  once  and  then 
cannot  rise,  finding  himself  glued  to  the  chair,  so 
was  Julian  with  his  overcoat ;  to  take  it  off  he  would 
have  had  to  flay  himself  alive. 

"  Won't  you  take  off  your  overcoat  ?"  Louis  sug-^ 
gested. 

"No." 

With  his  instinctive  politeness  Louis  turned  to 
improve  the  fire.  And  as  he  poked  among  the  coals 
he  said,  in  the  way  of  amiable  conversation: 

"How's  South  Africa ?" 

"All  right,"  replied  Julian,  who  hated  to  impart 
his  sensations.  If  Julian  had  witnessed  Napoleon's 
retreat  from  Moscow  he  would  have  come  to  the 
Five  Towns  and,  if  questioned — not  otherwise — 
would  have  said  that  it  was  all  right. 

Louis,  however,  suspected  that  this  brevity  was 
due  to  Julian's  resentment  of  any  inquisitiveness 
concerning  his  doings  in  South  Africa;  and  he  there- 
fore at  once  abandoned  South  Africa  as  a  subject  of 
talk,  though  he  was  rather  curious  to  know  what, 
indeed,  Julian  had  been  about  in  South  Africa  for 
six  mortal  months.  Nobody  in  the  Five  Towns 
knew  for  certain  what  Julian  had  been  about  in 
South  Africa.  It  was  understood  that  he  had  gone 
there  as  commercial  traveler  for  his  own  wares, 
when  his  business  was  in  a  highly  unsatisfactory 
condition,  and  that  he  had  meant  to  stay  for  only 
a  month.  The  excursion  had  been  deemed  some- 
what mad,  but  not  more  mad  than  sundry  other 
deeds  of  Julian.  Then  Julian's  manager,  Foulger, 
had  (it  appeared)  received  authority  to  assume  re- 
sponsible charge  of  the  manufactory  until  further 

274 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

notice.  Prom  that  moment  the  business  had  pros- 
pered: a  result  at  which  nobody  was  surprised, 
because  Foulger  was  notoriously  a  "good  man" 
who  had  hitherto  been  balked  in  his  ideas  by  an 
obstinate  young  employer. 

In  a  community  of  stiff-necked  employers,  Julian 
already  held  a  high  place  for  the  quality  of  being 
stiff-necked.  Jim  Horrocleave,  for  example,  had  a 
queer,  murderous  manner  with  customers  and  with 
"hands,"  but  Horrocleave  was  friendly  towards  scien- 
tific ideas  in  the  earthenware  industry,  and  had  even 
given  half  a  guinea  to  the  fund  for  encouraging  tech- 
nical education  in  the  district.  Whereas  Julian  Mal- 
don  not  only  terrorized  customers  and  work-people 
(the  latter  nevertheless  had  a  sort  of  liking  for  him), 
but  was  bitingly  scornful  of  "cranky  chemists,"  or 
"Germans,"  as  he  called  the  scientific  educated  ex- 
perts. He  was  the  pure  essence  of  the  British  manu- 
facturer. He  refused  to  make  what  the  market 
wanted,  unless  the  market  happened  to  want  what 
he  wanted  to  make.  He  hated  to  understand  the 
reasons  underlying  the  processes  of  manufacture,  or 
to  do  anything  which  had  not  been  regularly  done 
for  at  least  fifty  years.  And  he  accepted  orders  like 
insults.  The  wonder  was,  not  that  he  did  so  little 
business,  but  that  he  did  so  much.  Still,  people  did 
respect  him.  His  aunt  Maldon,  with  her  skilled 
habit  of  finding  good  points  in  mankind,  had  thought 
that  he  must  be  remarkably  intelligent  because  he 
was  so  rude. 

Beyond  a  vague  rumor  that  Julian  had  established 
a  general  pottery  agency  in  Cape  Town  with  favor- 
able prospects,  no  further  news  of  him  had  reached 
England,    But  of  course  it  was  admitted  that*  his 

*75 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

inheritance  had  definitely  saved  the  business,  and 
also  much  improved  his  situation  in  the  eyes  of  the 
community.  .  .  .  And  now  he  had  achieved  a  reap- 
pearance which  in  mysteriousness  excelled  even  his 
absence. 

"So  you  see  we're  installed  here,"  said  Louis,  when 
he  had  finished  with  the  fire. 

"Ay!"  muttered  Julian,  dryly,  and  shut  his  lips. 

Louis  tried  no  more  conversational  openings.  He 
was  afraid.  He  waited  for  Julian's  initiative  as  for 
an  earthquake;  for  he  knew  now  at  the  roots  of  his 
soul  that  the  phrasing  of  the  note  was  misleading,  and 
that  Julian  had  come  to  charge  him  with  having 
misappropriated  the  sum  of  nine  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  pounds.  He  had,  in  reality,  surmised  as  much  on 
first  reading  the  note,  but  somehow  he  had  managed 
to  put  away  the  surmise  as  absurd  and  incredible. 

After  a  formidable  silence  Julian  said  savagely: 

' *  Look  here.  I've  got  something  to  tell  you.  I've 
written  it  all  down,  and  I  thought  to  send  it  ye  by 
post.  But  after  I'd  written  it  I  said  to  myself  I'd 
tell  it  ye  face  to  face  or  I'd  die  for  it.  And  so  here 
I  am." 

"Oh!"  Louis  murmured.  He  would  have  liked 
to  be  genially  facetious,  but  his  mouth  was  dried  up. 
He  could  not  ask  any  questions.     He  waited. 

"Where's  missis?"  Julian  demanded. 

Louis  started,  not  instantly  comprehending. 

"Rachel?  She's — she's  in  bed.  She'd  gone  to 
bed  before  you  sent  round." 

"Well,  I'll  thank  ye  to  get  her  up,  then!"  Julian 
pronounced.  "She's  got  to  hear  this  at  first  hand, 
not  at  second."  His  gaze  expressed  a  frank  distrust 
of  Louis. 

276 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

"But— " 

At  this  moment  Rachel  came  into  the  parlor,  ap- 
parently fully  dressed.  Her  eyes  were  red,  but  her 
self-control  was  complete. 

Julian  glared  at  Louis  as  at  a  trapped  liar. 

"I  thought  ye  said  she  was  in  bed." 

"She  was,"  said  Louis.  He  could  find  nothing  to 
say  to  his  wife. 

Rachel  nonchalantly  held  out  her  hand. 

"So  you've  come,"  she  said. 

"Ay!"  said  Julian,  gruffly,  and  served  Rachel's 
hand  as  he  had  served  Louis'. 

She  winced  without  concealment. 

"Was  it  you  we  saw  going  down  Moorthorne 
Road  to-night?"  she  asked. 

"It  was,"  said  Julian,  looking  at  the  carpet. 

"Well,  why  didn't  you  come  in  then?" 

"I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind,  if  yoti  must  know." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  sit  down?" 

Julian  sat  down. 

Louis  reflected  that  women  were  astonishing  and 
incalculable,  and  the  discovery  seemed  to  him  origi- 
nal, even  profound.  Imagine  her  tackling  Julian  in 
this  direct  fashion,  with  no  preliminaries !  She  might 
have  seen  Julian  last  only  on  the  previous  day !  The 
odalisque  had  vanished  in  this  chill  and  matter-of- 
fact  housewife. 

"And  why  were  you  at  the  Three  Tuns?"  she 
went  on. 

Julian  replied  with  extraordinary  bitterness: 

1 '  I  was  at  the  Three  Tuns  because  I  was  at  the 
Three  Tuns." 

"I  see  you've  grown  a  beard,"  said  Rachel. 

"Happen  I  have,"  said  Julian.  "But  what  I  say 
277 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

is,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you  two.  I've  written 
it  all  down  and  I  thought  to  post  it  to  ye.  But 
after  I'd  written  it  I  says  to  myself — I'll  tell  'em  face 
to  face  or  I'll  die  for  it." 

"Is  it  about  that  money?"  Rachel  inquired. 

"Ay!" 

"Then  Mr.  Batchgrew  did  write  and  tell  you 
about  it.  Won't  you  take  that  great,  thick  over- 
coat off?" 

Julian  jumped  up  as  if  in  fury,  pulled  off  the 
overcoat  with  violent  gestures,  and  threw  it  on  the 
Chesterfield.  Then  he  sat  down  again,  and,  sticking 
out  his  chin,  stared  inimically  at  Louis. 

Louis'  throat  was  now  so  tight  that  he  was  ner- 
vously obliged  to  make  the  motion  of  swallowing. 
He  could  look  neither  at  Rachel  nor  at  Julian.  He 
was  nonplussed.  He  knew  not  what  to  expect  nor 
what  he  feared.  He  could  not  even  be  sure  that 
what  he  feared  was  an  accusation.  "I  am  safe. 
I  am  safe,"  he  tried  to  repeat  to  himself,  deeply  con- 
vinced, nevertheless,  against  his  reason,  that  he  was 
not  safe.  The  whole  scene,  every  aspect  of  it,  baffled 
and  inexpressibly  dismayed  him. 

Julian  still  stared,  with  mouth  open,  threatening. 
Then  he  slapped  his  knee. 

' ' Nay !' '  said  he.  "I  shall  read  it  to  ye. "  And  he 
drew  some  sheets  of  foolscap  from  his  pocket.  He 
opened  the  sheets,  and  frowned  at  them,  and 
coughed.  "Nay!"  said  he.  "There's  nothing  else 
for  it.     I  must  smoke." 

And  he  produced  a  charred  pipe  which  might  or 
might  not  have  been  the  gift  of  Mrs.  Maldon,  filled 
it,  struck  a  match  on  his  boot,  and  turbulently 
puffed  outrageous  quantities  of  smoke.     Louis,  with 

278 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

singular  courage,  lit  a  cigarette,  which  gave  him  a 
little  ease  of  demeanor,  if  not  confidence. 


II 

And  then  at  length  Julian  began  to  read : 
1  "Before  I  went  to  South  Africa  last  autumn  I 
^ound  myself  in  considerable  business  difficulties. 
The  causes  of  said  difficulties  were  bad  trade,  unfair 
competition,  and  price-cutting  at  home  and  abroad, 
especially  in  Germany,  and  the  modern  spirit  of 
unrest  among  the  working-classes  making  it  im- 
possible for  an  employer  to  be  master  on  his  own 
works.  I  was  not  insolvent,  but  I  needed  capital, 
the  life-blood  of  industry.  In  justice  to  myself  I 
ought  to  explain  that  my  visit  to  South  Africa  was 
very  carefully  planned  and  thought  out.  I  had  a 
good  reason  to  believe  that  a  lot  of  business  in  door- 
furniture  could  be  done  there,  and  that  I  could 
obtain  some  capital  from  a  customer  in  Durban.  I 
point  this  out  merely  because  trade  rivals  have  tried 
to  throw  ridicule  upon  me  for  going  out  to  South 
Africa  when  I  did.  I  must  ask  you  to  read  carefully ' 
— you  see  this  was  a  letter  to  you,"  he  interjected — 
"'read  carefully  all  that  I  say.  I  will  now  proceed. 
" '  When  I  came  to  Aunt  Maldon's  the  night  before 
I  left  for  South  Africa  I  wanted  a  wash,  and  I  went 
into  the  back  room — I  mean  the  room  behind  the 
parlor — and  took  off  my  coat  preparatory  to  going 
into  the  scullery  to  perform  my  ablutions.  While  in 
the  back  room  I  noticed  that  the  picture  nearest  the 
cupboard  opposite  the  door  was  hung  very  crooked. 
When  I  came  back  to  put  my  coat  on  again  after 
washing,  my  eye  again  caught  the  picture.     There 

279 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

was  a  chair  almost  underneath  it.  I  got  on  the  chair 
and  put  the  picture  into  a  horizontal  position. 
While  I  was  standing  on  the  chair  I  could  see  on 
the  top  of  the  cupboard,  where  something  white 
struck  my  attention.  It  was  behind  the  cornice  of 
the  cupboard,  but  I  could  see  it.  I  took  it  off  the 
top  of  the  cupboard  and  carefully  scrutinized  it  by 
the  gas,  which,  as  you  know,  is  at  that  corner  of  the 
fireplace,  close  to  the  cupboard.  It  was  a  roll  con- 
sisting of  Bank  of  England  notes,  to  the  value  of 
four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  I  counted  them  at 
once,  while  I  was  standing  on  the  chair.  I  then  put 
them  in  the  pocket  of  my  coat  which  I  had  already 
put  on.  I  wish  to  point  out  that  if  the  chair  had 
not  been  under  the  picture  I  should  in  all  human 
probability  not  have  attempted  to  straighten  the 
picture.     Also — '" 

"But  surely,  Julian/ '  Louis  interrupted  him,  in  a 
constrained  voice,  "you  could  have  reached  the 
picture  without  standing  on  the  chair  ?"  He  inter- 
rupted solely  from  a  tremendous  desire  for  speech. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  remain 
silent.     He  had  to  speak  or  perish. 

"I  couldn't/ '  Julian  denied  vehemently.  "The 
picture's  practically  as  high  as  the  top  of  the  cup- 
board— or  was." 

"And  could  you  see  on  to  the  top  of  the  cupboard 
from  a  chair?"  Louis,  with  a  peculiar  gaze,  was 
apparently  estimating  Julian's  total  height  from  the 
ground  when  raised  on  a  chair. 

Julian  dashed  down  his  papers. 

"Here!     Come  and  look  for  yourself!"   he  ex- 
claimed with  furious  pugnacity.     "Come  and  look." 
He  jumped  up  and  moved  towards  the  door. 

280 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

Rachel  and  Louis  followed  him  obediently.  In  the 
back  room  it  was  he  who  struck  a  match  and  lighted 
the  gas. 

"You've  shifted  the  picture!"  he  cried,  as  soon 
as  the  room  was  illuminated. 

"Yes,  we  have,"  Louis  admitted. 

"But  there's  where  it  was!"  Julian  almost  shouted, 
pointing.  "You  can't  deny  it!  There's  the  marks. 
Are  they  as  high  as  the  top  of  the  cupboard,  or 
aren't  they?"  Then  he  dragged  along  a  chair  to  the 
cupboard  and  stood  on  it,  puffing  at  his  pipe.  "Can 
I  see  on  to  the  top  of  the  cupboard  or  can't  I?"  he 
demanded.  Obviously  he  could  see  on  to  the  top 
of  the  cupboard. 

"I  didn't  think  the  top  was  so  low,"  said  Louis. 

"Well,  you  shouldn't  contradict,"  Julian  chastised 
him. 

"It's  just  as  your  great-aunt  said,"  put  in  Rachel, 
in  a  meditative  tone.  "I  remember  she  told  us  she 
pushed  a  chair  forward  with  her  knee.  I  dare  say 
in  getting  on  to  the  chair  she  knocked  her  elbow  or 
something  against  the  picture,  and  no  doubt  she  left 
the  chair  more  or  less  where  she'd  pushed  it.  That 
would  be  it." 

"Did  she  say  that  to  you?"  Louis  questioned 
Rachel. 

"It  doesn't  matter  much  what  she  said,"  Julian 
growled.  "That's  how  it  was,  anyway.  I'm  telling 
you.     I'm  not  here  to  listen  to  theories." 

"Well,"  said  Louis,  amiably,  "you  put  the  notes 
into  your  pocket.     What  then?" 

Julian  removed  his  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"What  then?     I  walked  off  with  'em." 

"But  you  don't  mean  to  tell  us  you  meant — to 
281 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

appropriate  them,  Julian?  You  don't  mean  that!" 
Louis  spoke  reassuringly,  good-naturedly,  and  with 
a  slight  superiority. 

"No,  I  don't.  I  don't  mean  I  appropriated  'em." 
Julian's  voice  rose  defiantly.  "I  mean  I  stole  them. 
...  I  stole  them,  and  what's  more,  I  meant  to 
steal  them.  And  so  there  ye  are !  But  come  back 
to  the  parlor.     I  must  finish  my  reading." 

He  strode  away  into  the  parlor,  and  the  other  two 
had  no  alternative  but  to  follow  him.  They  followed 
him  like  guilty  things;  for  the  manner  of  his  con- 
fession was  such  as  apparently  to  put  his  hearers, 
more  than  himself,  in  the  wrong.  He  confessed  as 
one  who  accuses. 

"Sit  down,"  said  he,  in  the  parlor. 

"But  surely,"  Louis  protested,  "if  you're  seri- 
ous—" 

"If  I'm  serious,  man!  Do  you  take  me  for  a  bally 
mountebank?  Do  you  suppose  I'm  doing  this  for 
fun?" 

"Well,"  said  Louis,  "if  you  are  serious,  you  needn't 
tell  us  any  more.  We  know,  and  that's  enough, 
isn't  it?" 

Julian  replied  curtly:  "You've  got  to  hear  me 
out." 

And  picking  up  his  document  from  the  floor,  he 
resumed  the  perusal. 

"'Also,  if  the  gas  hadn't  been  where  it  is,  I 
should  not  have  noticed  anything  on  the  top  of  the 
cupboard.  I  took  the  notes  because  I  was  badly  in 
need  of  money,  and  also  because  I  was  angry  at 
money  being  left  like  that  on  the  tops  of  cupboards. 
I  had  no  idea  Aunt  Maldon  was  such  a  foolish 

282 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

Louis  interjected,  soothingly:  "But  you  only 
meant  to  teach  the  old  lady  a  lesson  and  give  the 
notes  back." 

"I  didn't,"  said  Julian,  again  extremely  irritated. 
"Can't  ye  understand  plain  English?  I  say  I  stole 
the  money,  and  I  meant  to  steal  it.  Don't  let  me 
have  to  tell  ye  that  any  more.  Ill  go  on:  'The 
sight  of  the  notes  was  too  sore  a  temptation  for  me, 
and  I  yielded  to  it.  And  all  the  more  shame  to  me, 
for  I  had  considered  myself  an  honest  man  up  to 
that  very  hour.  I  never  thought  about  the  conse- 
quences to  my  Aunt  Maldon,  nor  how  I  was  going 
to  get  rid  of  the  notes.  I  wanted  money  bad,  and 
I  took  it.  As  soon  as  I'd  left  the  house  I  was  stricken 
with  remorse.  I  could  not  decide  what  to  do.  The 
fact  is  I  had  no  time  to  reflect  until  I  was  on  the 
steamer,  and  it  was  then  too  late.  Upon  arriving  at 
Cape  Town  I  found  the  cable  stating  that  Aunt 
Maldon  was  dead.  I  draw  a  veil  over  my  state  of 
mind,  which,  however,  does  not  concern  you.  I 
ought  to  have  returned  to  England  at  once,  but  I 
could  not.  I  might  have  sent  to  Batchgrew  and  told 
him  to  take  half  of  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  off 
my  share  of  Aunt  Maldon's  estate  and  put  it  into 
yours.  But  that  would  not  have  helped  my  con- 
science. I  had  it  on  my  conscience,  as  it  might 
have  been  on  my  stomach,  I  tried  religion,  but 
it  was  no  good  to  me.  It  was  between  a  prayer- 
meeting  and  an  experience-meeting  at  Durban  that 
I  used  part  of j  the  ill-gotten  money.  I  had  not 
touched  it  till  then.  But  two  days  later  I  got 
back  the  very  note  that  I'd  spent.  A  prey  to  re- 
morse, I  wandered  from  town  to  town,  trying  to  do 
business.'" 

283 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 


in 

Rachel  stood  up. 

"Julian— " 

It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  she  had  called 
him  by  his  christian  name. 

"What?" 

"Give  me  that."  As  he  hesitated,  she  added,  "I 
want  it." 

He  handed  her  the  written  confession. 

"I  simply  can't  bear  to  hear  you  reading  it,"  said 
Rachel  passionately.  "All  about  a  prey  to  remorse 
and  so  on  and  so  on !  Why  do  you  want  to  confess  ? 
Why  couldn't  you  have  paid  back  the  money  and 
have  done  with  it,  instead  of  all  this  fuss?" 

"I  must  finish  it,  now  I've  begun,"  Julian  insisted, 
sullenly. 

"You'll  do  no  such  thing — not  in  my  house." 

And,  repeating  pleasurably  the  phrase  "not  in 
my  house,"  Rachel  stuck  the  confession  into  the  fire, 
and  feverishly  forced  it  into  the  red  coals  with 
lunges  of  the  poker.  When  she  turned  away  from 
the  fire,  she  was  flushing  scarlet.  Julian  stood  close 
by  her  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"You  don't  understand,"  he  said,  with  half  fearful 
resentment,  "I  had  to  punish  myself.  I  doubt  I'm 
not  a  religious  man,  but  I  had  to  punish  myself. 
There's  nobody  in  the  world  as  I  should  hate  con- 
fessing to  as  much  as  Lotus  here,  and  so  I  said  to 
myself,  I  said,  I'll  confess  to  Louis.  I've  been 
wandering  about  all  the  evening  trying  to  bring 
myself  to  do  it.  .  .  .  Well,  I've  done  it." 

His  voice  trembled,  and  though  the  vibration  in 
it  was  almost  imperceptible,   it  was  sufficient  to 

284 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

nullify  the  ridiculousness  of  Julian's  demeanor  as  a 
wearer  of  sack-cloth,  and  to  bring  a  sudden  lump  into 
Rachel's  throat.  The  comical  absurdity  of  his  belli- 
cose pride  because  he  had  accomplished  something 
which  he  had  sworn  to  accomplish  was  extinguished 
by  the  absolutely  painful  sincerity  of  his  final  words, 
which  seemed  somehow  to  damage  the  reputation  of 
Louis.  Rachel  could  feel  her  emotion  increasing, 
but  she  could  not  have  defined  what  her  emotion 
was.  She  knew  not  what  to  do.  She  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  new  and  intense  experience,  which  left 
her  helpless.  All  she  was  clearly  conscious  of  was 
an  unrepentant  voice  in  her  heart  repeating  the 
phrase:  "I  don't  care!  I'm  glad  I  stuck  it  in  the 
fire!  I  don't  care!  I'm  glad  I  stuck  it  in  the  fire." 
She  waited  for  the  next  development.  They  were 
all  waiting,  aware  that  individual  forces  had  been 
loosed,  but  unable  to  divine  their  resultant,  and 
afraid  of  that  resultant.  Rachel  glanced  furtively 
at  Louis.     His  face  had  an  uneasy,  stiff  smile. 

With  an  aggrieved  air  Julian  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe. 

"Anyhow,"  said  Louis  at  length,  "this  accounts 
for  four  hundred  and  fifty  out  of  nine  sixty-five. 
What  we  have  to  find  out  now,  all  of  us,  is  what 
happened  to  the  balance."    - 

"I  don't  care  a  fig  about  the  balance,"  said  Julian, 
impetuously.  "I've  said  what  I  had  to  say  and 
that's  enough  for  me." 

And  he  did  not,  in  fact,  care  a  fig  about  the 
balance.  And  if  the  balance  had  been  five  thousand 
odd  instead  of  five  hundred  odd,  he  still  probably 
would  not  have  cared.  Further,  he  privately  con- 
sidered that  nobody  else  ought  to  care  about  the] 

285 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

balance,  either,  having  regard  to  the  supreme  moral 
importance  to  himself  of  the  four  hundred  and  fifty. 

'  'Have  you  said  anything  to  Mr.  Batchgrew?" 
Louis  asked,  trying  to  adopt  a  casual  tone,  and  to 
keep  out  of  his  voice  the  relief  and  joy  which  were 
gradually  taking  possession  of  his  soul.  The  upshot 
of  Julian's  visit  was  so  amazingly  different  from  the 
apprehension  of  it  that  he  could  have  danced  in 
his  glee. 

"Not  I!"  Julian  answered,  ferociously.  "The  old 
robber  has  been  writing  me,  wanting  me  to  put 
money  into  some  cinema  swindle  or  other.  I  gave 
him  a  bit  of  my  mind." 

"He  was  trying  the  same  here,"  said  Rachel. 
The  words  popped  by  themselves  out  of  her  mouth, 
and  she  instantly  regretted  them.  However,  Louis 
seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  the  implied  reproach  on 
a  subject  presumably  still  highly  delicate. 

"But  you  can  tell  him,  if  you've  a  mind,"  Julian 
went  on,  challengingly. 

"We  sha'n't  do  any  such  thing,"  said  Rachel, 
words  again  popping  by  themselves  out  of  her  mouth. 
But  this  time  she  put  herself  right  by  adding,  "Shall 
we,  Louis?" 

"Of  course  not,"  Louis  agreed,  very  amiably. 

Rachel  began  to  feel  sympathetic  towards  the  thief. 
She  thought:  "How  strange  to  have  some  one  close 
to  me,  and  talking  quite  naturally,  who  has  stolen 
such  a  lot  of  money  and  might  be  in  prison  for  it — 
a  convict!"  Nevertheless,  the  thief  seemed  to  be 
remarkably  like  ordinary  people. 

"Oh!"  Julian  ejaculated.  "Well,  here's  the 
notes."  He  drew  a  lot  of  notes  from  a  pocket-book 
and  banged  them  down  on  the  table,    "Four  hun- 

286 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

dred  and  fifty.  The  identical  notes.  Count  'em." 
He  glared  afresh,  and  with  even  increased  virulence. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Louis.  "That's  all  right. 
Besides,  we  only  want  half  of  them." 

Sundry  sheets  of  the  confession,  which  had  not 
previously  caught  fire,  suddenly  blazed  up  with  a 
roar  in  the  grate,  and  all  looked  momentarily  at  the 
flare. 

"You've  got  to  have  it  all!"  said  Julian,  flushing. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  Louis  repeated,  "we  shall  only 
take  half.     The  other  half's  yours." 

"As  God  sees  me,"  Julian  urged,  "I'll  never  take 
a  penny  of  that  money!     Here — !" 

He  snatched  up  all  the  notes  and  dashed  wrath- 
fully  out  of  the  parlor.  Rachel  followed  quickly. 
He  went  to  the  back  room,  where  the  gas  had  been 
left  burning  high,  sprang  on  to  a  chair  in  front  of 
the  cupboard,  and  deposited  the  notes  on  the  top 
of  the  cupboard,  in  the  very  place  from  which  he  had 
originally  taken  them. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  jumping  down  from  the 
chair. 

The  symbolism  of  the  action  appeared  to  tran- 
quilize  him. 

IV 

For  a  moment  Rachel,  as  a  newly  constituted 
housewife  to  whom  every  square  foot  of  furniture 
surface  had  its  own  peculiar  importance,  wras  enraged 
to  see  Julian's  heavy  and  dirty  boots  again  on  the 
seat  of  her  unprotected  chair.  But  the  sense  of  hurt 
passed  like  a  spasm  as  her  eyes  caught  Julian's. 
They  were  alone  together  in  the  back  room  and  not 
far  from  each  other.     And  in  the  man's  eyes  she  no 

287 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

longer  saw  the  savage  Julian,  but  an  intensely  suffer- 
ing creature,  a  creature  martyrized  by  destiny.  She 
saw  the  real  Julian  glancing  out  in  torment  at  the 
world  through  those  eyes.  The  effect  of  the  vibra- 
tion in  Julian's  voice  a  few  minutes  earlier  was 
redoubled.  Her  emotion  nearly  overcame  her.  She 
desired  very  much  to  succor  Julian,  and  was  aware 
of  a  more  distinct  feeling  of  impatience  against  Louis. 
She  thought  Julian  had  been  magnificently  heroic, 
and  all  his  faults  of  demeanor  were  counted  to  him 
for  excellences.  He  had  been  a  thief;  but  the 
significance  of  the  word  thief  was  indeed  completely 
altered  for  her.  She  had  hitherto  envisaged  thieves 
as  rascals  in  handcuffs  bandied  along  the  streets  by 
policemen  at  the  head  of  a  procession  of  urchins — 
dreadful  rascals !  But  now  a  thief  was  just  a  young 
man  like  other  young  men — only  he  had  happened  to 
see  some  bank-notes  lying  about  and  had  put  them 
in  his  pocket  and  then  had  felt  very  sorry  for  what 
he  had  done.  There  was  no  crime  in  what  he  had 
done  .  .  .  was  there?  She  pictured  Julian's  pil- 
grimage through  South  Africa,  all  alone.  She  pic- 
tured his  existence  at  Knype,  all  alone;  and  his  very 
ferocity  rendered  him  the  more  wistful  and  pathetic 
in  her  sight.  She  was  sure  that  his  mother  and 
sisters  had  never  understood  him;  and  she  did  not 
think  it  quite  proper  on  their  part  to  have  gone 
permanently  to  America,  leaving  him  solitary  in 
England,  as  they  had  done.  She  perceived  that  she 
herself  was  the  one  person  in  the  world  capable  of 
understanding  Julian,  the  one  person  who  could  look 
after  him,  influence  him,  keep  him  straight,  civilize 
him,  and  impart  some  charm  to  his  life.  And  she 
was  glad  that  she  had  the  status  of  a  married  woman, 

288 


s 


he  perceived  that  she  was  the  one  person  capable 
of  understanding  Julian. 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

because  without  that  she  would  have  been  help- 
less. 

Julian  sat  down,  or  sank,  on  to  the  chair. 

"I'm  very  sorry  I  spoke  like  that  to  you  in  the 
other  room — I  mean  about  what  you'd  written,"  she 
said.     "I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have  burnt  it." 

She  spoke  in  this  manner  because  to  apologize  to 
him  gave  her  a  curious  pleasure. 

"That's  nothing,"  he  answered,  with  the  quietness 
of  fatigue.  "I  dare  say  you  were  right  enough. 
Anyhow,  ye'll  never  see  me  again." 

She  exclaimed,  kindly  protesting: 

"Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know." 

"You  won't  want  me  here  as  a  visitor,  after  all 
this."     He  faintly  sneered. 

"I  shall,"  she  insisted. 

"Louis  won't." 

She  replied:  "You  must  come  and  see  me.  I  shall 
expect  you  to.  I  must  tell  you,"  she  added,  confi- 
dentially, in  a  lower  tone,  "I  think  you've  been  splen- 
did to-night.  I'm  sure  I  respect  you  much  more  than 
I  did  before — and  you  can  take  it  how  you  like!" 

"Nay!  Nay!"  he  murmured,  deprecatingly.  All 
the  harshness  had  melted  out  of  his  voice. 

Then  he  stood  up. 

"I'd  better  hook  it,"  he  said,  briefly.  "Will  ye 
get  me  my  overcoat,  missis?" 

She  comprehended  that  he  wished  to  avoid  speak- 
ing to  Louis  again  that  night,  and,  nodding,  went 
at  once  to  the  parlor  and  brought  away  the  overcoat. 

"He's  going,"  she  muttered  hastily  to  Louis,  who 
was  standing  near  the  fire.  Leaving  the  parlor,  she 
drew  the  door  to  behind  her. 

She  helped  Julian  with  his  overcoat  and  preceded 

19  289 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

him  to  the  front  door.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  be 
tortured  afresh,  and  suffered  the  grip  of  the  vise  with 
a  steady  smile. 

"Now  don't  forget,"  she  whispered. 

Julian  seemed  to  try  to  speak  and  to  fail.  .  .  . 
He  was  gone.  She  carefully  closed  and  bolted  the 
door. 


Louis  had  not  followed  Julian  and  Rachel  into  the 
back  room  because  he  felt  the  force  of  an  instinct 
to  be  alone  with  his  secret  satisfaction.  In  those 
moments  it  irked  him  to  be  observed,  and  especially 
to  be  observed  by  Rachel,  not  to  mention  Julian. 
He  was  glad  for  several  reasons,  on  account  of  his 
relief,  on  account  of  the  windfall  of  money,  and 
perhaps  most  of  all  on  account  of  the  discovery  that 
he  was  not  the  only  thief  in  the  family.  The  bizarre 
coincidence  which  had  divided  the  crime  about 
equally  between  himself  and  Julian  amused  him. 
His  case  and  Julian's  were  on  a  level.  Nevertheless, 
he  somewhat  despised  Julian,  patronized  him,  con- 
descended to  him.  He  could  not  help  thinking  that 
Julian  was,  after  all,  a  greater  sinner  than  himself. 
Never  again  could  Julian  look  him  (Louis)  in  the  face 
as  if  nothing  had  happened.  The  blundering  Julian 
was  marked  for  life,  by  his  own  violent,  unreasonable 
hand.     Julian  was  a  fool. 

Rachel  entered  rather  solemnly. 

"Has  he  really  gone?"  Louis  asked.  Rachel  did 
not  care  for  her  husband's  tone,  which  was  too 
frivolous  for  her.  She  was  shocked  to  find  that 
Louis  had  not  been  profoundly  impressed  by  the 
events  of  the  night. 

290 


JULIAN'S    DOCUMENT 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"What's  he  done  with  the  money ?" 

"He's  left  it  in  the  other  room."  She  would  not 
disclose  to  Louis  that  Julian  had  restored  the  notes 
to  the  top  of  the  cupboard,  because  she  was  afraid 
that  he  might  treat  the  symbolic  act  with  levity. 

"All  of  it?" 

"Yes.     Ill  bring  it  you." 

She  did  so.  Louis  counted  the  notes  and  casually 
put  them  in  his  breast  pocket. 

"Oddest  chap  I  ever  came  across!"  he  observed, 
smiling. 

"But  aren't  you  sorry  for  him?"  Rachel  demanded. 

"Yes,"  said  Louis,  airily.  "I  shall  insist  on  his 
taking  half,  naturally." 

"I'm  going  to  bed,"  said  Rachel.  "You'll  see  all 
the  lights  out." 

She  offered  her  face  and  kissed  him  tepidly. 

"What's  come  over  the  kid?"  Louis  asked  him- 
self, somewhat  disconcerted,  when  she  had  gone. 

He  remained  smoking,  purposeless,  in  the  parlor 
until  all  sounds  had  ceased  overhead  in  the  bedroom. 
Then  he  extinguished  the  gas  in  the  parlor,  in  the 
back  room,  in  the  kitchen,  and  finally  in  the  lobby, 
and  went  up-stairs  by  the  light  of  the  street-lamp. 
In  the  bedroom  Rachel  lay  in  bed,  her  eyes  closed. 
She  did  not  stir  at  his  entrance.  He  locked  the  bank- 
notes in  a  drawer  of  the  dressing-table,  undressed 
with  his  usual  elaborate  care,  approached  Rachel's 
bed  and  gazed  at  her  unresponsive  form,  turned  down 
the  gas  to  a  pinpoint,  and  got  into  bed  himself.  Not 
the  slightest  sound  could  be  heard  anywhere,  either 
in  or  out  of  the  house,  save  the  faint  breathing  of 
Rachel    And  after  a  few  moments  Louis  no  longer 

291 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

heard  even  that.  In  the  darkness  the  mystery  of 
the  human  being  next  him  began  somehow  to  be  dis- 
quieting. He  was  capable  of  imagining  that  he  lay 
in  the  room  with  an  utter  stranger.  Then  he  fell 
asleep. 


XII 

RUNAWAY   HORSES 


RACHEL,  according  to  her  own  impression  the 
next  morning,  had  no  sleep  during  that  night. 
The  striking  of  the  hall  clock  could  not  be  heard  in 
the  bedroom  with  the  door  closed,  but  it  could  be 
felt  as  a  faint,  distant  concussion;  and  she  had  thus 
noted  every  hour,  except  four  o'clock,  when  daylight 
had  come  and  the  street-lamp  had  been  put  out. 
She  had  deliberately  feigned  sleep  as  Louis  entered 
the  room,  and  had  maintained  the  soft,  regular 
breathing  of  a  sleeper  until  long  after  he  was  in  bed. 
She  did  not  wish  to  talk;  she  could  not  have  talked 
with  any  safety. 

Her  brain  was  occupied  much  by  the  strange  and 
emotional  episode  of  Julian's  confession,  but  still 
more  by  the  situation  of  her  husband  in  the  affair. 
Julian's  story  had  precisely  corroborated  one  part  of 
Mrs.  Maldon's  account  of  her  actions  on  the  evening 
when  the  bank-notes  had  disappeared.  Little  by 
little  that  recital  of  Mrs.  Maldon's  had  been  dis- 
credited, and  at  length  cast  aside  as  no  more  impor- 
tant than  the  delirium  of  a  dying  creature;  it  was  an 
inconvenient  story,  and  would  only  fit  in  with  the 
alternative  theories  that  money  had  wings  and  could 

293 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

fly  on  its  own  account,  or  that  there  had  been  thieves 
in  the  house.  Far  easier  to  assume  that  Mrs.  Mal- 
don  in  some  lapse  had  unwittingly  done  away  with 
the  notes!  But  Mrs.  Maldon  was  now  suddenly 
reinstated  as  a  witness.  And  if  one  part  of  her  evi- 
dence was  true,  why  should  not  the  other  part  be 
true?  Her  story  was  that  she  had  put  the  remainder 
of  the  bank-notes  on  the  chair  on  the  landing,  and 
then  (she  thought)  in  the  wardrobe.  Rachel  recalled 
clearly  all  that  she  had  seen  and  all  that  she  had 
been  told.  She  remembered  once  more  the  warnings 
that  had  been  addressed  to  her.  She  lived  the  even- 
ing and  the  night  of  the  theft  over  again,  many  times, 
monotonously,  and  with  increasing  woe  and  agita- 
tion. 

Then  with  the  greenish  dawn,  that  the  blinds  let 
into  the  room,  came  some  refreshment  and  new 
health  to  the  brain,  but  the  trend  of  her  ideas  was 
not  modified.  She  lay  on  her  side  and  watched  the 
unconscious  Louis  for  immense  periods,  and  occa- 
sionally tears  filled  her  eyes.  The  changes  in  her 
existence  seemed  so  swift  and  so  tremendous  as  to 
transcend  belief.  Was  it  conceivable  that  only 
twelve  hours  earlier  she  had  been  ecstatically  happy  ? 
In  twelve  hours — in  six  hours — she  had  aged  twenty 
years,  and  she  now  saw  the  Rachel  of  the  reception 
and  of  the  bicycle  lesson  as  a  young  girl,  touchingly 
ingenuous,  with  no  more  notion  of  danger  than  a  baby. 

At  six  o'clock  she  arose.  Already  she  had  formed 
the  habit  of  arising  before  Louis,  and  had  reconciled 
herself  to  the  fact  that  Louis  had  to  be  forced  out 
of  bed.  Happily,  his  feet  once  on  the  floor,  he  be- 
came immediately  manageable.  Already  she  was 
the  conscience  and  time-keeper  of  the  house.     She 

294 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

could  dress  herself  noiselessly;  in  a  week  she  had  per- 
fected all  her  little  devices  for  avoiding  noise  and 
saving  time.  She  finally  left  the  room  neat,  prim, 
with  lips  set  to  a  thousand  responsibilities.  She  had 
a  peculiar  sensation  of  tight  elastic  about  her  eyes, 
but  she  felt  no  fatigue,  and  she  did  not  yawn.  Mrs. 
Tarns,  who  had  just  descended,  found  her  taciturn 
and  exacting.  She  would  have  every  household  task 
performed  precisely  in  her  own  way,  without  com- 
promise. And  it  appeared  that  the  house,  which 
had  the  air  of  being  in  perfect  order,  was  not  in  order 
at  all,  that  indeed  the  processes  of  organization  had, 
in  young  Mrs.  Fores'  opinion,  scarcely  yet  begun.  It 
appeared  that  there  was  no  smallest  part  or  corner 
of  the  house  as  to  which  young  Mrs.  Fores  had  not 
got  very  definite  ideas  and  plans.  The  individuality 
of  Mrs.  Tarns  was  to  have  scope  nowhere.  But  after 
all,  this  seemed  quite  natural  to  Mrs.  Tarns. 

When  Rachel  went  back  to  the  bedroom  about 
seven- thirty,  to  get  Louis  by  ruthlessness  and  guile 
out  of  bed,  she  was  surprised  to  discover  that  he  had 
already  gone  up  to  the  bathroom.  She  guessed, 
with  vague  alarm,  from  this  symptom  that  he  had  a 
new  and  very  powerful  interest  in  life.  He  came  to 
breakfast  at  three  minutes  to  eight,  three  minutes 
before  it  was  served.  When  she  entered  the  parlor 
in  the  wake  of  Mrs.  Tarns  he  kissed  her  with  gay 
fervor.  She  permitted  herself  to  be  kissed.  Her 
unresponsiveness,  though  not  marked,  disconcerted 
him  and  somewhat  dashed  his  mood.  Whereupon 
Rachel,  by  the  reassurance  of  her  voice,  set  about  to 
convince  him  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  deeming 
her  unresponsive.  So  that  he  wavered  between  two 
moods. 

295 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

As  she  sat  behind  the  tray,  amid  the  exquisite 
odors  of  fresh  coffee  and  Ted  Malkin's  bacon  (for 
she  had  forgiven  Miss  Malkin),  behaving  like  a 
staid  wife  of  old  standing,  she  well  knew  that  she 
was  a  mystery  for  Louis.  She  was  the  source  of 
his  physical  comfort,  the  origin  of  the  celestial 
change  in  his  life  which  had  caused  him  to  admit 
fully  that  to  "live  in  digs  was  a  rotten  game";  but 
she  was  also,  that  morning,  a  most  sinister  mystery. 
Her  behavior  was  faultless.  He  could  seize  on  no 
definite  detail  that  should  properly  disturb  him; 
only  she  had  woven  a  veil  between  herself  and 
him.     Still,  his  liveliness  scarcely  abated. 

"Do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  this  very 
day  as  ever  is?"  he  asked. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I'm  going  to  buy  you  a  bike.  I've  had  enough 
of  that  old  crock  I  borrowed  for  you.  I  shall  return 
it,  and  come  back  with  a  new  un.  And  I  know  the 
precise  bike  that  I  shall  come  back  with.  It's  at 
Bostock's  at  Hanbridge.  They've  just  opened  a 
new  cycle  department." 
\  "Oh,  Louis!"  she  protested. 
*  His  scheme  for  spending  money  on  her  flattered 
her.  But  nevertheless  it  was  a  scheme  for  spending 
money.  Two  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  had 
dropped  into  his  lap,  and  he  must  needs  begin  in- 
stantly to  dissipate  it.  He  could  not  keep  it.  That 
was  Louis!  She  refused  to  see  that  the  purchase  of 
a  bicycle  was  the  logical  consequence  of  her  lessons. 
She  desired  to  believe  that  by  some  miracle  at  some 
future  date  she  could  possess  a  bicycle  without  a 
bicycle  being  bought — and  in  the  mean  time  was 
there  not  the  borrowed  machine? 

296 


RUNAWAY   HORSES 

Suddenly  she  yawned. 

"Didn't  you  sleep  well?"  he  demanded. 

"Not  very." 

"Oh!" 

She  could  almost  see  into  the  interior  of  his  brain 
where  he  was  persuading  himself  that  fatigue  alone 
was  the  explanation  of  her  peculiar  demeanor,  and 
rejoicing  that  the  mystery  was,  after  all,  neither  a 
mystery  nor  sinister. 

"I  say,"  he  began  between  two  puffs  of  a  cigar- 
ette after  breakfast,  "I  shall  send  back  half  of  that 
money  to  Julian.  Ill  send  the  notes  by  registered 
post." 

"Shall  you?" 

"Yes.    Don't  you  think  he'll  keep  them?" 

"Supposing  I  was  to  take  them  over  to  him  my- 
self— and  insist?"  she  suggested. 

"It's  a  notion.     When?" 

"Well,  on  Saturday  afternoon.  He'll  be  at  home 
probably  then." 

"All  right,"  Louis  agreed.  "  I'll  give  you  the 
money  later  on." 

Nothing  more  was  said  as  to  the  Julian  episode. 
It  seemed  that  husband  and  wife  were  equally  de- 
termined not  to  discuss  it  merely  for  the  sake  of 
discussing  it. 

Shortly  after  half  past  eight  Louis  was  preparing 
the  borrowed  bicycle  and  his  own  in  the  back  yard. 

"I  shall  ride  mine  and  tow  the  crock,"  said  he, 
looking  up  at  Rachel  as  he  screwed  a  valve.  She 
had  come  into  the  yard  in  order  to  show  a  polite 
curiosity  in  his  doings. 

"Isn't  it  dangerous?" 

"Are  you  dangerous?"  he  laughed. 
297 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"But  when  shall  you  go?" 

"Now." 

"Sha'n't  you  be  late  at  the  works?" 

"Well,  if  I'm  late  at  the  beautiful  works  I  shall 
be  late  at  the  beautiful  works.  Those  who  don't  like 
it  will  have  to  lump  it." 

Once  more,  it  was  the  consciousness  of  a  loose, 
entirely  available  two  hundred  and  twenty-five 
pounds  that  was  making  him  restive  under  the  yoke 
of  regular  employment.  For  a  row  of  pins,  that 
morning,  he  would  have  given  Jim  Horrocleave  a 
week's  notice,  or  even  the  amount  of  a  week's 
wages  in  lieu  of  notice !  Rachel  sighed,  but  within 
herself. 

In  another  minute  he  was  elegantly  flying  down 
Bycars  Lane,  guiding  his  own  bicycle  with  his  right 
hand  and  the  crock  with  his  left  hand.  The  feat 
appeared  miraculous  to  Rachel,  who  watched  from 
the  bow-window  of  the  parlor.  Beyond  question 
he  made  a  fine  figure.  And  it  was  for  her  that  he 
was  flying  to  Hanbridge!  She  turned  away  to  her 
domesticity. 

ii 

It  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  scarcely  been  gone 
ten  minutes  when  one  of  the  glorious  taxicabs  which 
had  recently  usurped  the  stand  of  the  historic  fly 
under  the  Town  Hall  porch,  drew  up  at  the  front 
door,  and  Louis  got  out  of  it.  The  sound  of  his 
voice  was  the  first  intimation  to  Rachel  that  it  was 
Louis  who  was  arriving.  He  shouted  at  the  cab- 
man as  he  paid  the  fare.  The  window  of  the  parlor 
was  open  and  the  curtains  pinned  up.  She  ran  to 
the  window,  and  immediately  saw  that  Louis'  head 

298 


He  was  climbing  rather  stiffly  up  the  steps. 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

was  bandaged.  Then  she  ran  to  the  door.  He  was 
climbing  rather  stiffly  up  the  steps. 

"All  right!  All  right !"  he  shouted  at  her.  "A 
spill.  Nothing  of  the  least  importance.  But  both 
the  jiggers  are  pretty  well  converted  into  old  iron. 
I  tell  you  it's  all  right  I    Shut  the  door." 

He  bumped  down  on  the  oak  chest,  and  took  a 
long  breath. 

"But  you're  frightfully  hurt!"  she  exclaimed.  She 
could  not  properly  see  his  face  for  the  bandages. 

Mrs.  Tarns  appeared.  Rachel  murmured  to  her 
in  a  flash: 

"Go  out  the  back  way  and  fetch  Dr.  Yardley  at 
once." 

She  felt  herself  absolutely  calm.  What  puzzled 
her  was  Louis'  shouting.  Then  she  understood  he 
was  shouting  from  mere  excitement  and  did  not 
realize  that  he  shouted. 

"No  need  for  any  doctor!  Quite  simple!"  he 
called  out. 

But  Rachel  gave  a  word  confirming  the  original 
order  to  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  disappeared. 

"First  thing  I  knew  I  was  the  center  of  an  admir- 
ing audience  and  fat  Mrs.  Heath,  in  her  white  apron 
and  the  steel  hanging  by  her  side,  was  washing  my 
face  with  a  sponge  and  a  basin  of  water,  and  Heath 
stood  by  with  brandy.  It  was  nearly  opposite  their 
shop.     People  in  the  tram  had  a  rare  view  of  me." 

"But  was  it  the  tram-car  you  ran  into?"  Rachel 
asked,  eagerly. 

He  replied  with  momentary  annoyance : 

"Tram-car!  Of  course  it  wasn't  the  tram-car. 
Moreover,  I  didn't  run  into  anything.  Two  horses 
ran  into  me.     I  was  coming  down  past  the  Shambles 

299 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

into  Duck  Bank — very  slowly,  because  I  could  hear 
a  tram  coming  along  from  the  Market-place — and 
just  as  I  got  past  the  Shambles  and  could  see  along 
the  Market-place,  I  saw  a  lad  on  a  cart-horse  and 
leading  another  horse.  No  stirrups,  no  saddle.  He'd 
no  more  control  over  either  horse  than  a  baby  over 
an  elephant.  Not  a  bit  more.  Both  horses  were 
running  away.  The  horse  he  was  supposed  to  be 
leading  was  galloping  first.  They  were  passing  the 
tram  at  a  fine  rate." 

"But  how  far  were  they  off  you?" 

"About  ten  yards.  I  said  to  myself,  'If  that  chap 
doesn't  look  out  hell  be  all  over  me  in  two  seconds/ 
I  turned  as  sharp  as  I  could  away  to  the  left.  I 
could  have  turned  sharper  if  I'd  had  your  bike  in 
my  right  hand  instead  of  my  left.  But  it  wouldn't 
have  made  any  difference.  The  first  horse  simply 
made  straight  for  me.  There  was  about  a  mile  of 
space  for  him  between  me  and  the  tram,  but  he 
wouldn't  look  at  it.  He  wanted  me,  and  he  had 
me.  They  both  had  me.  I  never  felt  the  actual 
shock.  Curious,  that!  I'm  told  one  horse  put  his 
foot  clean  through  the  back  wheel  of  my  bike.  Then 
he  was  stopped  by  the  front  palings  of  the  Conserva- 
tive Club.  Oh!  a  pretty  smash!  The  other  horse 
and  the  boy  thereon  finished  half-way  up  Moor- 
thorne  Road.  He  could  stick  on,  no  mistake,  that 
kid  could.  Midland  Railway  horses.  Whoppers. 
Either  being  taken  to  the  vet's  or  brought  from  the 
vet's — I  don't  know.     I  forget." 

Rachel  put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Do  come  into  the  parlor  and  have  the  easy- 
chair." 

"I'll  come — I'll  come,"  he  said,  with  the  same 
300 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

annoyance.  "Give  us  a  chance."  His  voice  was 
now  a  little  less  noisy. 

"But  you  might  have  been  killed!" 

"You  bet  I  might!  Eight  hoofs  all  over  me! 
One  tap  from  any  of  the  eight  would  have  settled 
yours  sincerely." 

"Louis,"  she  spoke  firmly.  "You  must  come  into 
the  parlor.  Now  come  along,  do,  and  sit  down  and 
let  me  look  at  your  face."  She  removed  his  hat, 
which  was  perched  rather  insecurely  on  the  top  of 
the  bandages.     "Who  was  it  looked  after  you?" 

"Well,"  he  hesitated,  following  her  into  the 
parlor.  "It  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  Mrs. 
Heath." 

"But  didn't  they  take  you  to  a  chemist's?  Isn't 
there  a  chemist's  handy?" 

"The  great  Greene  had  one  of  his  bilious  attacks 
and  was  in  bed,  it  appears.  And  the  great  Greene's 
assistant  is  only  just  out  of  petticoats,  I  believe. 
However,  everybody  acted  for  the  best,  and  here  I 
am.  And  if  you  ask  me,  I  think  I've  come  out  of 
it  rather  well." 

He  dropped  heavily  on  to  the  Chesterfield.  What 
she  could  see  of  his  cheeks  was  very  pale. 

"Open  the  window,"  he  murmured.  "It's  fright- 
fully stuffy  here." 

1 '  The  window  is  open, ' '  she  said.  In  fact,  a  notice- 
able draught  blew  through  the  room.  "I'll  open  it 
a  bit  more." 

Before  doing  so  she  lifted  his  feet  on  to  the  Ches- 
terfield. 

"That's  better.     That's  better,"  he  breathed. 

When,  a  moment  later,  she  returned  to  him  with 
a  glass  of  water  which  she  had  brought  from  the 

3°i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

kitchen,  spilling  drops  of  it  along  the  whole  length 
of  the  passage,  he  smiled  at  her  and  then  winked. 

It  was  the  wink  that  seemed  pathetic  to  her. 
She  had  maintained  her  laudable  calm  until  he 
winked,  and  then  her  throat  tightened. 

"He  may  have  some  dreadful  internal  in  jury," 
she  thought.  "You  never  know.  I  may  be  a 
widow  soon.  And  everyone  will  say  how  young  she 
is  to  be  a  widow.  It  will  make  me  blush.  But  such 
things  can't  happen  to  me.  No,  he's  all  right.  He 
came  up  here  alone.  They'd  never  have  let  him 
come  up  here  alone  if  he  hadn't  been  all  right. 
Besides,  he  can  walk.     How  silly  I  am!" 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  him  passionately. 

"I  must  have  those  bandages  off,  dearest,"  she 
whispered.  "I  suppose  to-morrow  I'd  better  return 
them  to  Mrs.  Heath." 

He  muttered:  "She  said  she  always  kept  linen  for 
bandages  in  the  shop  because  they  so  often  cut  them- 
selves. Now  I  used  to  think  in  my  innocence  that 
butchers  never  cut  themselves." 

Very  gently  and  intently  Rachel  unfastened  two 
safety-pins  that  were  hidden  in  Louis'  untidy  hair. 
Then  she  began  to  unwind  a  long  strip  of  linen.  It 
stuck  to  a  portion  of  the  cheek  close  to  the  ear. 
Louis  winced.  The  inner  folds  of  the  linen  were 
discolored.     Rachel  had  a  glimpse  of  a  wound.  .  .  . 

"Go  on!"  Louis  urged.     "Get  at  it,  child." 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  think  I  shall  leave  it  just 
as  it  is  for  the  doctor  to  deal  with.  Shall  you  mind 
if  I  leave  you  for  a  minute?  I  must  get  some  warm 
water  and  things  ready  against  the  doctor  comes." 

He  retorted,  facetiously:  "Oh!  Do  what  you  like! 
Work  your  will  on  me.  .  .  .  Doctor!    Anyone  Vd 

303 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

think  I  was  badly  injured.  Why,  you  cuckoo,  it's 
only  skin  wounds/ ' 

"But  doesn't  it  hurt?" 

"Depends  what  you  call  hurt.     It  ain't  a  picnic." 

"I  think  you're  awfully  brave,"  she  said,  simply. 

At  the  door  she  stopped  and  gazed  at  him,  un- 
decided. 

"Louis,"  she  said  in  a  motherly  tone,  "I  should 
like  you  to  go  to  bed.  I  really  should.  You  ought 
to,  I'm  sure." 

"Well,  I  sha'n't,"  he  replied. 

"But  please!  To  please  me!  You  can  get  up 
again." 

"Oh,  go  to  blazes!"  he  cried,  resentfully.  "What 
in  thunder  should  I  go  to  bed  for,  I  should  like  to 
know.     Have  a  little  sense,  do!"     He  shut  his  eyes. 

He  had  never  till  then  spoken  to  her  so  roughly. 

"Very  well,"  she  agreed,  with  soothing  acquies- 
cence. His  outburst  had  not  irritated  her  in  the 
slightest  degree. 

In  the  kitchen,  as  she  bent  over  the  kettle  and  the 
fire,  each  object  was  surrounded  by  a  sort  of  halo, 
like  the  moon  in  damp  weather.  She  brushed  her 
hand  across  her  eyes,  contemptuous  of  herself. 
Then  she  ran  lightly  up-stairs  and  searched  out  an 
old  linen  garment  and  tore  the  seams  of  it  apart. 
She  crept  back  to  the  parlor  and  peeped  in.  Louis 
had  not  moved  on  the  sofa.  His  eyes  were  still 
closed.  After  a  few  seconds,  he  said  without 
stirring: 

"I've  not  yet  passed  away.     I  can  see  you." 

She  responded  with  a  little  laugh,  somewhat  forced. 

After  an  insupportable  delay  Mrs.  Tarns  re- 
appeared, out  of  breath.     Dr.  Yardley  had  just  gone 

303 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

out,  but  he  was  expected  back  very  soon  and  would 
then  be  sent  down  instantly. 

Mrs.  Tarns,  quite  forgetful  of  etiquette,  followed 
Rachel,  unasked,  into  the  parlor. 

"What?"  said  Louis,  loudly.  "Two  of  you! 
Isn't  one  enough  ?" 

Mrs.  Tarns  vanished. 

"Heath  took  charge  of  the  bikes,"  Louis  mur- 
mured, as  if  to  the  ceiling. 

Over  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  gate  creaked. 

"There  he  is!"  Rachel  exclaimed,  happily.  After 
having  conceived  a  hundred  different  tragic  sequels 
to  the  accident,  she  was  lifted  by  the  mere  creak 
of  the  gate  into  a  condition  of  pure  optimism,  and 
she  realized  what  a  capacity  she  had  for  secretly 
being  a  ninny  in  an  unexpected  crisis.  But  she 
thought  with  satisfaction:  "Anyhow,  I  don't  show  it. 
That's  one  good  thing!"  She  was  now  prepared  to 
take  oath  that  she  had  not  for  one  moment  been 
really  anxious  about  Louis.  Her  demeanor,  as  she 
stated  the  case  to  the  doctor,  was  a  masterpiece 
of  tranquil  unconcern. 

in 

Dr.  Yardley  said  that  he  was  in  a  hurry,  that  in 
fact  he  ought  to  have  been  quite  elsewhere  at  the 
time.  He  was  preoccupied,  and  showed  no  sympa- 
thy with  the  innocent  cyclist  who  had  escaped  the 
fatal  menace  of  hoofs.  When  Rachel  offered  him 
the  torn  linen,  he  silently  disdained  it,  and,  opening 
a  small  bag  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  pro- 
duced therefrom  a  roll  of  cotton- wool  in  blue  paper, 
and  a  considerable  quantity  of  sticking-plaster  on  a 

3°4 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

brass  reel.  He  accepted,  however,  Rachel's  warm 
water. 

"You  might  get  me  some  Condy's  Fluid/ ■  he  said, 
shortly. 

She  had  none !  It  was  a  terrible  lapse  for  a  capable 
housewife. 

Dr.  Yardley  raised  his  eyebrows:  "No  Condy's 
Fluid  in  the  house !" 

She  was  condemned. 

"I  do  happen  to  have  a  couple  of  tablets  of 
Chinosol,"  he  said,  "but  I  wanted  to  keep  them  in 
reserve  for  later  in  the  day." 

He  threw  two  yellow  tablets  into  the  basin  of 
water. 

Then  he  laid  Louis  flat  on  the  sofa,  asked  him  a 
few  questions,  and  sounded  him  in  various  parts. 
And  at  length  he  slowly,  but  firmly,  drew  off  Mrs. 
Heath's  bandages,  and  displayed  Louis'  head  to  the 
light. 

"Hm!"  he  exclaimed. 

Rachel  restrained  herself  from  any  sound.  But 
the  spectacle  was  ghastly.  The  one  particle  of  com- 
fort in  the  dreadful  matter  was  that  Louis  could  not 
see  himself. 

Thenceforward  Dr.  Yardley  seemed  to  forget  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  elsewhere.  Working  with 
extraordinary  deliberation,  he  coaxed  out  of  Louis' 
flesh  sundry  tiny  stones  and  many  fragments  of  mud, 
straightened  twisted  bits  of  skin,  and  he  removed 
other  pieces  entirely.  He  murmured,  "Hm!"  at 
intervals.  He  expressed  a  brief  criticism  of  the  per- 
formance of  Mrs.  Heath,  as  distinguished  from  her 
intentions.  He  also  opined  that  the  great  Greene 
might  not  perhaps  have  succeeded  much  better  than 

20  305 


THE    PRICE    OF   LOVE 

Mrs.  Heath,  even  if  he  had  not  been  bilious.  When 
the  dressing  was  finished,  the  gruesome  terror  of 
Louis'  appearance  seemed  to  be  much  increased. 
The  heroic  sufferer  rose  and  glanced  at  himself  in  the 
mirror,  and  gave  a  faint  whistle. 

4 'Oh!  So  that's  what  I  look  like,  is  it?  Well,  what 
price  me  as  a  victim  of  the  Inquisition !"  he  remarked. 

"I  should  advise  you  not  to  take  exercise  just  now, 
young  man,"  said  the  doctor.  "D'you  feel  pretty 
well?" 

"Pretty  well,"  answered  Louis,  and  sat  down. 

In  the  lobby  the  doctor,  once  more  in  a  hurry,  said 
to  Rachel: 

"Better  get  him  quietly  to  bed.  The  wounds  are 
not  serious,  but  he's  had  a  very  severe  shock." 

"He's  not  marked  for  life,  is  he?"  Rachel  asked, 
anxiously. 

"I  shouldn't  think  so,"  said  the  doctor,  as  if  the 
point  was  a  minor  one.  "Let  him  have  some  nour- 
ishment. You  can  begin  with  hot  milk — but  put 
some  water  to  it,"  he  added,  when  he  was  half-way 
down  the  steps. 

As  Rachel  re-entered  the  parlor  she  said  to  herself : 
"I  shall  just  have  to  get  him  to  bed  somehow,  what- 
ever he  says !  If  he's  unpleasant  he  must  be  unpleas- 
ant, that's  all." 

And  she  hardened  her  heart.  But  immediately 
she  saw  him  again,  sitting  forlornly  in  the  chair,  with 
the  whole  of  the  left  side  of  his  face  crisscrossed  in 
whitish-gray  plaster,  she  was  ready  to  cry  over  him 
and  flatter  his  foolishest  whim.  She  wanted  to  take 
him  in  her  arms,  if  he  would  but  have  allowed  her. 
She  felt  that  she  could  have  borne  his  weight  for 
hours  without  moving,  had  he  fallen  asleep  against 

306 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

her  bosom.  .  .  .  Still,  he  must  be  got  to  bed.  How 
negligent  of  the  doctor  not  to  have  given  the  order 
himself ! 

Then  Louis  said:  "I  say!  I  think  I  may  as  well 
lie  down!" 

She  was  about  to  cry  out,  "Oh,  you  must!" 

But  she  forbore.  She  became  as  wily  as  old 
Batchgrew. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  she  answered,  doubtfully. 

"I've  nothing  else  particular  on  hand,"  he  said. 

She  knew  that  he  wanted  to  surrender  without 
appearing  to  surrender. 

"Well,"  she  suggested,  "will  you  lie  down  on  the 
bed  for  a  bit?" 

"I  think  I  will." 

"And  then  I'll  give  you  some  hot  milk." 

She  dared  not  help  him  to  mount  the  stairs,  but 
she  walked  close  behind  him. 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  said  on  the  landing,  "I'd 
stroll  down  and  take  stock  of  those  bicycles  later  in 
the  day.     But  perhaps  I'm  not  fit  to  be  seen." 

She  thought:  "You  won't  stroll  down  later  in  the 
day— I  shall  see  to  that." 

"By  the  way,"  he  said,  "you  might  send  Mrs. 
Tarns  down  to  Horrocleave's  to  explain  that  I  sha'n't 
give  them  my  valuable  assistance  to-day.  ...  Oh! 
Mrs.  Tarns" — the  woman  was  just  bustling  out  of 
the  bedroom,  duster  in  hand — "will  you  toddle  down 
to  the  works  and  tell  them  I'm  not  coming?" 

"Eh,  mester!"  breathed  Mrs.  Tarns,  looking  at 
him.     "It's  a  mercy  it's  no  worse." 

"Yes,"  Louis  teased  her,  "but  you  go  and  look  at 
the  basin  down-stairs,:Mrs.  Tarns.  That  '11  give  you 
food  for  thought." 

3°7 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Shaking  her  head,  she  smiled  at  Rachel,  because 
the  master  had  spirit  enough  to  be  humorous  with 
her. 

In  the  bedroom,  Louis  said:  "I  might  be  more 
comfortable  if  I  took  some  of  my  clothes  off." 

Thereupon  he  abandoned  himself  to  Rachel.  She 
did  as  she  pleased  with  him,  and  he  never  opposed. 
Seven  bruises  could  be  counted  on  his  left  side. 
He  permitted  himself  to  be  formally  and  completely 
put  to  bed.  He  drank  half  a  glass  of  hot  milk,  and 
then  said  that  he  could  not  possibly  swallow  any 
more.  Everything  had  been  done  that  ought  to  be 
done  and  that  could  be  done.  And  Rachel  kept 
assuring  herself  that  there  was  not  the  least  cause 
for  anxiety.  She  also  told  herself  that  she  had  been 
a  ninny  once  that  morning,  and  that  once  was 
enough.  Nevertheless,  she  remained  apprehensive, 
and  her  apprehensions  increased.  It  was  Louis' 
unnatural  manageableness  that  disturbed  her. 

And  when,  about  three  hours  later,  he  murmured, 
"Old  girl,  I  feel  pretty  bad," 

"I  knew  it,"  she  said  to  herself. 

His  complaint  was  like  a  sudden  thunderclap  in 
her  ears,  after  long  faint  rumblings  of  a  storm. 

Towards  tea-time  she  decided  that  she  must  send 
for^the  doctor  again.  Louis  indeed  demanded  the 
doctor.  He  said  that  he  was  very  ill.  His  bruised 
limbs  and  his  damaged  face  caused  him  a  certain 
amount  of  pain.  It  was  not,  however,  the  pain  that 
frightened  him,  but  a  general  and  profound  sensation 
of  illness.  He  could  describe  no  symptoms.  There 
were  indeed  no  symptoms  save  the  ebbing  of  vitality. 
He  said  he  had  never  in  his  life  felt  as  he  felt  then. 
His  appearance  confirmed  the  statement.     The  look 

308 


RUNAWAY   HORSES 

of  his  eyes  was  tragic.  His  hands  were  pale.  His 
agonized  voice  was  extremely  distressing  to  listen  to. 
The  bandages  heightened  the  whole  sinister  effect. 
Dusk  shadowed  the  room.  Rachel  lit  the  gas  and 
drew  the  blinds.  But  in  a  few  moments  Louis  com- 
plained of  the  light,  and  she  had  to  lower  the  jet. 

The  sounds  of  the  return  of  Mrs.  Tarns  could  be 
heard  below.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  received  instructions 
to  bring  the  doctor  back  with  her,  but  Rachel's  ear 
caught  no  sign  of  the  doctor.  She  went  out  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs.  The  doctor  simply  must  be  there. 
It  was  not  conceivable  that  when  summoned  he 
should  be  "out"  twice  in  one  day,  but  so  it  was. 
Mrs.  Tarns,  whispering  darkly  from  the  dim  foot  of 
the  stairs,  said  that  Mrs.  Yardley  hoped  that  he 
would  be  in  shortly,  but  could  not  be  sure. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  thought  Rachel.  "This  is 
a  crisis.  Everything  depends  on  me.  What  shall 
I  do?  Shall  I  send  for  another  doctor?"  She  de- 
cided to  risk  the  chances  and  wait.  It  would  be  too 
absurd  to  have  two  doctors  in  the  house.  What 
would  people  say  of  her  and  of  Louis,  if  the  rumor 
ran  that  she  had  lost  her  head  and  filled  the  house 
with  doctors  when  the  case  had  no  real  gravity? 
People  would  say  that  she  was  very  young  and  in- 
experienced, and  a  freshly  married  wife,  and  so  on. 
And  Rachel  hated  to  be  thought  young  or  freshly 
married.  Besides,  another  doctor  might  be  "out" 
too.  And  further,  the  case  could  not  be  truly  serious. 
Of  course,  if  afterwards  it  did  prove  to  be  serious,  she 
would  never  forgive  herself. 

"Hell  be  here  soon,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  to 
Louis  in  the  bedroom. 

"If  he  isn't — "  moaned  Louis,  and  stopped. 
309 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

She  gave  him  some  brandy,  against  his  will.  Then, 
taking  his  wrist  to  feel  it,  she  felt  his  fingers  close 
on  her  wrist,  as  if  for  aid.  And  she  sat  thus  on  the 
bed  holding  his  hand  in  the  gloom  of  the  lowered  gas. 


IV 

His  weakness  and  his  dependence  on  her  gave  her 
a  feeling  of  kind  superiority.  And  also  her  own 
physical  well-being  was  such  that  she  could  not  help 
condescending  towards  him.  She  cared  for  a  trustful, 
helpless  little  dog.  She  thought  a  great  deal  about 
him;  she  longed  ardently  to  be  of  assistance  to  him; 
she  had  an  acute  sense  of  her  responsibility  and  her 
duty.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  that,  her  brain  was 
perhaps  chiefly  occupied  with  herself  and  her  own 
attitude  towards  existence.  She  became  mentally 
and  imaginatively  active  to  an  intense  degree.  She 
marveled  at  existence  as  she  had  never  marveled 
before,  and  while  seeming  suddenly  to  understand  it 
better  she  was  far  more  than  ever  baffled  by  it.  Was 
it  credible  that  the  accident  of  a  lad  losing  control 
of  a  horse  could  have  such  huge  and  awful  conse- 
quences on  two  persons  utterly  unconnected  with  the 
lad?  A  few  seconds  sooner,  a  few  seconds  later — and 
naught  would  have  occurred  to  Louis,  but  he  must 
needs  be  at  exactly  a  certain  spot  at  exactly  a  certain 
instant,  with  the  result  that  now  she  was  in  torture ! 
If  this,  if  that,  if  the  other — Louis  would  have  been 
well  and  gay  at  that  very  moment,  instead  of  a 
broken  organism  humiliated  on  a  bed  and  clinging 
to  her  like  a  despairing  child. 

The  rapidity  and  variety  of  events  in  her  life  again 
startled  her,  and  once  more  she  went  over  them. 

310 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

The  disappearance  of  the  bank-notes  was  surely 
enough  in  itself.  But  on  the  top  of  that  fell  the 
miracle  of  her  love  affair.  Her  marriage  was  like  a 
dream  of  romance  to  her,  untrue,  incredible.  Then 
there  was  the  terrific  episode  of  Julian  on  the  previous 
night.  One  would  have  supposed  that  after  that  the 
sensationalism  of  events  would  cease.  But,  no! 
The  unforeseeable  had  now  occurred,  something 
which  reduced  all  else  to  mere  triviality. 

And  yet  what  had  in  fact  occurred?  Acquain- 
tances, in  recounting  her  story,  would  say  that  she 
had  married  her  mistress's  nephew,  that  there  had 
been  trouble  between  Louis  and  Julian  about  some 
bank-notes,  and  that  Louis  had  had  a  bicycle  acci- 
dent. Naught  more!  A  most  ordinary  chronicle! 
And  if  he  died  now,  they  would  say  that  Louis  had 
died  within  a  month  of  the  wedding  and  how  sad  it 
was!  Husbands  indubitably  do  die,  young  wives 
indubitably  are  transformed  into  widows — a  daily 
event,  indeed!  .  .  .  She  seemed  to  perceive  the  deep, 
hidden  meaning  of  life.  There  were  three  Rachels 
in  her — one  who  pitied  Louis,  one  who  pitied  herself, 
and  one  who  looked  on  and  impartially  compre- 
hended. The  last  was  scarcely  unhappy — only  fer- 
vently absorbed  in  the  prodigious  wonder  of  the 
hour. 

"Can't  you  do  anything?"  Louis  murmured. 

"If  Dr.  Yardley  doesn't  come  quick,  I  shall  send 
for  some  other  doctor,"  she  said,  with  decision. 

He  sighed. 

"Better  send  for  a  lawyer  at  the  same  time,"  he 
said. 

"A  lawyer." 

"Yes.     You  know  I've  not  made  my  will." 
311 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Oh,  Louis!  Please  don't  talk  like  that!  I  can't 
bear  to  hear  you." 

"You'll  have  to  hear  worse  things  than  that,"  he 
said,  pettishly,  loosing  her  hand.  "I've  got  to  have 
a  solicitor  here.  Later  on  you'll  probably  be  only 
too  glad  that  I  had  enough  common  sense  to  send  for 
a  solicitor.  Somebody  must  have  a  little  common 
sense.  I  expect  you'd  better  send  for  Lawton.  .  .  . 
Oh!  It's  Friday  afternoon — he'll  have  left  early 
for  his  week-end  golf,  I  bet."  This  last  discovery 
seemed  to  exhaust  his  courage. 

In  another  minute  the  doctor,  cheerful  and  ener- 
getic, was  actually  in  the  room  and  the  gas  brilliant. 
He  gazed  at  an  exanimate  Louis,  made  a  few  in- 
quiries and  a  few  observations  of  his  own,  gave  some 
brief  instructions,  and  departed.  The  day  was  in 
truth  one  of  his  busy  days. 

He  seemed  surprised  when  Rachel  softly  called  to 
him  on  the  stairs. 

"I  suppose  everything's  all  right,  Doctor?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  casually.  " He'll  feel  mighty 
queer  for  a  few  days.     That's  all." 

"Then  there's  no  danger?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"But  he  thinks  he's  dying." 

Dr.  Yardley  smiled  carelessly. 

"And  do  you?  .  .  .  He's  no  more  dying  than  I 
am.  That's  only  the  effect  of  the  shock.  Didn't  I 
tell  you  this  morning?  You  probably  won't  be  able 
to  stop  him  just  yet  from  thinking  he's  dying — it  is 
a  horrid  feeling — but  you  needn't  think  so  yourself, 
Mrs.  Fores."     He  smiled. 

"Oh,  Doctor,"  she  burst  out,  "you  don't  know 
how  you've  relieved  me!" 

312 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

V  You'll  excuse  me  if  I  fly  away,"  said  Dr.  Yardley, 
calmly.  "There's  a  crowd  of  insurance  patients  wait- 
ing for  me  at  the  surgery." 


In  the  middle  of  the  night  Rachel  was  awakened 
by  Louis'  appeal.  She  was  so  profoundly  asleep  that 
for  a  few  moments  she  could  not  recall  what  it  was 
that  had  happened  during  the  previous  day  to  cause 
her  anxiety. 

After  the  visit  of  the  doctor,  Louis'  moral  con- 
dition had  apparently  improved.  He  had  affected 
to  be  displeased  by  the  doctor's  air  of  treating  his 
case  as  though  it  was  deprived  of  all  importance. 
He  had  said  that  the  doctor  had  failed  to  grasp  his 
case.  He  had  stated  broadly  that  in  these  days  of 
state  health  insurance  all  doctors  were  too  busy  and 
too  wealthy  to  be  of  assistance  to  private  patients 
capable  of  paying  their  bills  in  the  old  gentlemanly 
fashion.  But  his  remarks  had  not  been  without  a 
touch  of  facetiousness  in  their  wilful  disgust.  And 
the  mere  tone  of  his  voice  proved  that  he  felt  better. 
To  justify  his  previous  black  pessimism  he  had  of 
course  been  obliged  to  behave  in  a  certain  manner 
(well  known  among  patients  who  have  been  taking 
themselves  too  seriously),  and  Rachel  had  under- 
stood and  excused.  She  would  have  been  ready, 
indeed,  to  excuse  far  worse  extravagances  than  any 
that  could  have  occurred  to  the  fancy  of  a  nature 
so  polite  and  benevolent  as  that  of  Louis;  for,  in 
order  to  atone  for  her  silly  schoolgirlishness,  she  had 
made  a  compact  with  herself  to  be  an  angel  and  a 
serpent  simultaneously  for  the  entire  remainder  of 
her  married  life. 

313 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

Then  Mrs.  Tarns  had  come  in,  from  errands  of 
marketing,  with  a  copy  of  the  early  special  of  The 
Signal,  containing  a  description  of  the  accident. 
Mrs.  Tarns  had  never  before  bought  such  a  thing  as 
a  newspaper,  but  an  acquaintance  of  hers  who 
"stood  the  market"  with  tripe  and  chitterlings  had 
told  her  that  Mr.  Fores  was  "in"  the  Signal,  and 
accordingly  she  had  bravely  stopped  a  newsboy  in 
the  street  and  made  the  purchase.  To  Rachel  she 
pointed  out  the  paragraph  with  pride,  and  to  please 
her  and  divert  Louis,  Rachel  had  introduced  the 
newspaper  into  the  bedroom.  The  item  was  headed 
"Runaway  Horses  in  Bursley  Market-place.  Prov- 
idential Escape."  It  spoke  of  Mr.  Louis  Fores' 
remarkable  skill  and  presence  of  mind  in  swerving 
away  with  two  bicycles.  It  said  that  Mr.  Louis 
Fores  was  an  accomplished  cyclist,  and  that  after 
a  severe  shaking  Mr.  Louis  Fores  drove  home  in  a 
taxicab  "apparently  little  the  worse,  save  for  facial 
contusions,  for  his  perilous  adventure."  Lastly,  it 
said  that  a  representative  of  the  Midland  Railway 
had  "assured  our  representative  that  the  horses  were 
not  the  property  of  the  Midland  Railway."  Louis 
had  sardonically  repeated  the  phrase  "apparently 
little  the  worse,"  murmuring  it  with  his  eyes  shut. 
He  had  said,  "I  wish  they  could  see  me."  Still  he 
had  made  no  further  mention  of  sending  for  a 
solicitor.  He  had  taken  a  little  food  and  a  little 
drink.  He  had  asked  Rachel  when  she  meant  to  go  to 
bed.  And  at  length  Rachel,  having  first  arranged  food 
for  use  in  the  night,  and  fixed  a  sheet  of  note-paper 
on  the  gas-bracket  as  a  screen  between  the  gas  and 
Louis,  had  undressed  and  got  into  bed,  and  gone  off 
into  a  heavy  slumber  with  a  mind  comparatively  free. 

314 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

In  response  to  his  confusing  summons,  she  stum- 
bled to  her  peignoir  and  slipped  it  on. 

"Yes,  dear?"  she  spoke  softly. 

"I  couldn't  bear  it  any  longer/ '  said  the  voice  of 
Louis.     "I  just  had  to  waken  you." 

She  raised  the  gas,  and  her  eyes  blinked  as  she 
stared  at  him.  His  bedclothes  were  horribly  dis- 
arranged. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  she  asked,  smoothing  the 
blankets. 

"No.  But  I'm  so  ill.  I— I  don't  want  to 
frighten  you — " 

"The  doctor  said  you'd  feel  ill.  It's  the  shock, 
you  know." 

She  stroked  his  hand.  He  did  indubitably  look 
very  ill.  His  appearance  of  woe,  despair,  and  dread- 
ful apprehension  was  pitiable  in  the  highest  degree. 
With  a  gesture  of  intense  weariness  he  declined  food, 
nor  could  she  persuade  him  to  take  anything  what- 
ever. 

"You'll  be  ever  so  much  better  to-morrow.  I'll 
sit  up  with  you.  You  were  bound  to  feel  worse  in 
the  night." 

"It's  more  than  shock  that  I've  got,"  he  muttered. 
"I  say,  Rachel,  it's  all  up  with  me.  I  know  I'm  done 
for.     You'll  have  to  do  the  best  you  can." 

The  notion  shot  through  her  head  that  possibly, 
after  all,  the  doctor  might  have  misjudged  the  case. 
Suppose  Louis  were  to  die  in  the  night  ?  Suppose  the 
morning  found  her  a  widow?  The  world  was  full  of 
the  strangest  happenings.  .  .  .  Then  she  was  herself 
again  and  immovably  cheerful  in  her  secret  heart. 
She  thought:  "I  can  go  through  worse  nights  than 
this.     One  night,  some  time  in  the  future,  either  he 

3i5 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

will  really  be  dying  or  I  shall.  This  night  is  noth- 
ing.' ■  And  she  held  his  hand,  and  sat  in  her  old 
place  on  his  bed.  The  room  was  chilly.  She  de- 
cided that  in  five  minutes  she  would  light  the  gas- 
stove,  and  also  make  some  tea  with  the  spirit-lamp. 
She  would  have  tea  whether  he  still  refused  or  not. 
His  watch  on  the  night  table  showed  half  past  two. 
In  about  an  hour  the  dawn  would  be  commencing. 
She  felt  that  she  had  reserves  of  force  against  any 
contingency,   against  any  nervous  strain. 

Then  he  said,  "I  say,  Rachel/ ' 

He  was  too  ill  to  call  her  "  Louise/ ' 

"I  shall  make  some  tea  soon,"  she  answered. 

He  went  on:  "You  remember  about  that  missing 
money — I  mean  before  auntie  died.  You  remem- 
ber—" 

"Don't  talk  about  that,  dear,"  she  interrupted 
him,  eagerly.  "Why  should  you  bother  about  that 
now?" 

In  one  instant  those  apparently  exhaustless  re- 
serves of  moral  force  seemed  to  have  ebbed  away. 
She  had  imagined  herself  equal  to  any  contingency, 
and  now  there  loomed  a  contingency  which  made  her 
quail. 

"I've  got  to  talk  about  that,"  he  said  in  his  weak 
and  desperate  voice.  His  bruised  head  was  hol- 
lowed into  the  pillow,  and  he  stared  monotonously 
at  the  ceiling,  upon  which  the  paper  screen  of  the 
gas  threw  a  great  trembling  shadow.  "That's  why 
I  wakened  you.  You  don't  know  what  the  inside  of 
my  brain's  like.  .  .  .  Why  did  you  say  to  them  you 
found  the  scullery  door  open  that  night?  You  know 
perfectly  well  it  wasn't  open." 

She  could  scarcely  speak. 
316 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

"I — J —  Louis,  don't  talk  about  that  now. 
You're  too  ill,"  she  implored. 

V.I  know  why  you  said  it." 

"Be  quiet!"  she  said,  sharply,  and  her  voice  broke. 

But  he  continued  in  the  same  tone: 

"You  made  up  that  tale  about  the  scullery  door 
because  you  guessed  I'd  collared  the  money  and  you 
wanted  to  save  me  from  being  suspected.  Well,  I 
did  collar  the  money!    Now  I've  told  you!" 

She  burst  into  a  sob,  and  her  head  dropped  on  to 
his  body. 

"Louis!"  she  cried,  passionately,  amid  her  sobs. 
"Why  ever  did  you  tell  me?  You've  ruined  every- 
thing now.     Everything!" 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Louis,  with  a  sort  of 
obstinate  and  defiant  weariness.  "It  was  on  my 
mind,  and  I  just  had  to  tell  you.  You  don't  seem 
to  understand  that  I'm  dying." 

Rachel  jumped  up  and  sprang  away  from  the  bed. 

"Of  course  you're  not  dying!"  she  reproached 
him.     "How  can  you  imagine  such  things?" 

Her  heart  suddenly  hardened  against  him — 
against  his  white-bandaged  head  and  face,  against 
his  feeble  voice  of  a  beaten  martyr.  It  seemed 
to  her  disgraceful  that  he,  a  strong  male  creature, 
should  be  lying  there  damaged,  helpless,  and  under 
the  foolish  delusion  that  he  was  dying.  She  re- 
called with  bitter  gusto  the  tone  in  which  the  doc- 
tor had  said,  "He's  no  more  dying  than  I  am!" 
All  her  fears  that  the  doctor  might  be  wrong  had 
vanished  away.  She  now  resented  her  husband's 
illness;  as  a  nurse,  when  danger  is  over,  will  resent  a 
patient's  long  convalescence,  somehow  charging  it 
to  him  as  a  sin. 

317 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"I  found  the  other  half  of  the  notes  under  the 
chair  on  the — "  Louis  began  again. 

"  Please !"  she  objected  with  quick  resounding 
violence,  and  raised  a  hand. 

He  said: 

"You  must  listen.' ' 

She  answered,  passionately: 

* '  I  won't  listen !  I  won't  listen !  And  if  you  don't 
stop  I  shall  leave  the  room!  I  shall  leave  you  all 
alone!  .  .  .  Yes,  I  shall!"  She  moved  a  little  to- 
wards the  door. 

His  gloomy  and  shifty  glance  followed  her,  and 
there  was  a  short  silence. 

"  You  needn't  work  yourself  up  into  such  a  state," 
murmured  Louis  at  length.  "But  I  should  like  to 
know  whether  the  scullery  door  was  open  or  not, 
when  you  came  down-stairs  that  night?" 

Rachel's  glance  fell.  She  blushed.  The  tears  had 
ceased  to  drop  from  her  eyes.     She  made  no  answer. 

"You  see,"  said  Louis,  with  a  half -sneering 
triumph,  "I  knew  jolly  well  it  wasn't  open.  So  did 
old  Batchgrew  know,  too." 

She  shut  her  lips  together,  went  decisively  to  the 
mantelpiece,  struck  a  match,  and  lit  the  stove.  Like 
the  patent  gas-burner  down-stairs,  the  stove  often 
had  to  be  extinguished  after  the  first  lighting,  and 
lighted  again  with  a  second  and  a  different  kind  of 
explosion.  And  so  it  was  now.  She  flung  down  the 
last  match  pettishly  into  the  hearth.  Throughout 
the  whole  operation  she  sniffed  convulsively,  to  pre- 
vent a  new  fit  of  sobbing.  Her  peignoir  being  very 
near  to  the  purple-green  flames  that  folded  them- 
selves round  the  asbestos  of  the  stove,  she  reflected 
that  the  material  was  probably  inflammable,  and 

318 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

that  a  careless  movement  might  cause  it  to  be  ig- 
nited. "And  not  a  bad  thing,  either !"  she  said  to 
herself.  Then,  without  looking  at  all  towards  the 
bed,  she  lit  the  spirit-lamp  in  order  to  make  tea. 
The  sniffing  continued,  as  she  went  through  the 
familiar  procedure. 

The  water  would  not  boil,  demonstrating  the  cruel 
truth  of  proverbs.  She  sat  down  and,  gazing  into 
the  stove,  now  a  rich  red,  ignored  the  saucepan. 
The  dry  heat  from  the  stove  burnt  her  ankles  and 
face.  Not  a  sound  from  the  small  saucepan,  balanced 
on  its  tripod  over  the  wavering  blue  flame  of  the 
spirit  -  lamp !  At  last,  uncontrollably  impatient, 
she  lifted  the  teapot  off  the  inverted  lid  of  the  sauce- 
pan, where  she  had  placed  it  to  warm,  and  peered 
into  the  saucepan.  The  water  was  cheerfully  boil- 
ing !  She  made  the  tea,  and  sat  down  again  to  wait 
until  it  should  be  infused.  She  had  to  judge  the 
minutes  as  well  as  she  could,  for  she  would  not  go 
across  to  the  night  table  to  look  at  Louis'  watch; 
her  own  was  out  of  order,  and  so  was  the  clock.  She 
counted  two  hundred  and  fifty,  and  then,  anticipat- 
ing feverishly  the  tonic  glow  of  the  tea  in  her  breast, 
she  poured  out  a  cup.  Only  colorless  steaming  water 
came  forth  from  the  pot.  She  had  forgotten  to  put  in 
the  tea!  Misfortune  not  unfamiliar  to  dazed  makers 
of  tea  in  the  night!  But  to  Rachel  now  the  conse- 
quences of  the  omission  seemed  to  amount  to  a 
tragedy.  Had  she  the  courage  to  begin  the  inter- 
minable weary  process  afresh?  She  was  bound  to 
begin  it  afresh.  With  her  eyes  obscured  by  tears, 
she  put  the  water  back  into  the  saucepan,  and 
searched  for  the  match-box.  The  water  boiled  al- 
most immediately,  and  by  so  doing  comforted  her. 

319 


THE   PRICE   OF   LOVE 

While  waiting  for  the  infusion,  she  realized  little 
by  little  that  for  a  few  moments  she  must  have  been 
nearly  hysterical,  and  she  partially  resumed  posses- 
sion of  herself.  The  sniffing  ceased,  her  vision  cleared ; 
she  grew  sardonic.  All  her  chest  was  filled  with  cold 
lead.  "This  truly  is  the  end,"  she  thought.  She 
had  thought  that  Julian's  confession  must  be  the 
end  of  the  violent  experiences  which  had  befallen 
her  in  Mrs.  Maldon's  house.  Then  she  had  thought 
that  Louis'  accident  must  be  the  end.  Each  time  she 
had  been  mistaken.  But  she  could  not  be  mistaken 
now.  No  conceivable  event,  however  awful,  could 
cap  Louis'  confession  that  he  had  thieved — and  un- 
der such  circumstances! 

She  did  not  drink  the  first  cup  of  tea.  No!  She 
must  needs  carry  it,  spilling  it,  to  Louis  in  bed.  He 
was  asleep,  or  he  was  in  a  condition  that  resembled 
sleep.  Assuredly  he  was  ill.  He  made  a  dreadful 
object  in  his  bandages,  amid  the  disorder  of  the  bed, 
upon  which  strong  shadows  fell  from  the  gas  and  from 
the  stove.  No  matter!  If  he  was  ill,  he  was  ill. 
So  much  the  worse  for  him !  He  was  not  dangerous- 
ly ill.  He  was  merely  passing  through  a  stress  which 
had  to  be  passed  through.  It  would  soon  be  over, 
and  he  would  be  the  same  eternal  Louis  that  he  had 
always  been. 

"Here!"  she  said. 

He  stirred,  opened  his  eyes. 

"Here's  some  tea!"  she  said,  coldly.     "Drink  it." 

He  gave  a  gesture  of  dissent.  But  it  was  useless. 
She  had  brewed  the  tea,  and  had  determined  that 
he  should  drink  a  cup.  Whether  he  desired  it  or 
loathed  it  was  a  question  irrelevant.  He  was  ap- 
pointed to  drink  some  tea,  and  she  would  not  taste 

320 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

until  he  had  drunk.  This  self-sacrifice  was  her  per- 
verse pleasure. 

"Come!  .  .  .  Please  don't  make  it  any  more  awk- 
ward for  me." 

With  her  right  arm  she  raised  the  pillow  and  his 
head  on  it.  He  drank,  his  sick  lips  curling  awk- 
wardly upon  the  rim  of  the  cup,  which  she  held  for 
him.  When  he  had  drunk,  she  put  the  cup  down  on 
the  night  table,  and  tidied  his  bed,  as  though  he  had 
been  a  naughty  child.  And  then  she  left  him,  and 
drank  tea  slowly,  savoringly,  by  herself  in  a  chair 
near  the  dressing-table,  out  of  the  same  cup. 

VI 

She  had  lied  about  the  scullery  door  being  open 
when  she  went  down-stairs  on  the  night  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  bank-notes.  The  scullery  door 
had  not  been  open.  The  lie  was  clumsy,  futile,  ill- 
considered.  It  had  burst  out  of  the  impulsiveness 
and  generosity  of  her  nature.  She  had  perceived 
that  suspicion  was  falling,  or  might  fall,  upon  Louis 
Fores,  and  the  sudden  lie  had  flashed  forth  to  defend 
him.  That  she  could  ultimately  be  charged  with 
having  told  the  lie  in  order  to  screen  herself  from 
suspicion  had  never  once  occurred  to  her.  And  it 
did  not  even  occur  to  her  now  as  she  sat  perched 
uncomfortably  on  the  chair  in  the  night  of  desolation. 
She  was  now  deeply  ashamed  of  the  lie — and  she 
ought  not  to  have  been  ashamed,  for  it  was  a  lie 
magnanimous  and  fine;  she  might  rather  have  taken 
pride  in  it.  She  was  especially  ashamed  of  her 
repetition  of  the  lie  on  the  following  day  to  Thomas 
Batchgrew,  and  of  her  ingenious  embroidery  upon 
21  321 


THE    PRICE    OF   LOVE 

it.  She  hated  to  remember  that  she  had  wept  vio- 
lently in  front  of  Thomas  Batchgrew  when  he  had 
charged  her  with  having  a  secret  about  the  loss  of 
the  notes.  He  must  have  well  known  that  she  was 
lying ;  he  must  have  suspected  her  of  some  complicity ; 
and  if  later  he  had  affected  to  ignore  all  the  awkward 
aspects  of  the  episode,  it  was  only  because  he  wished 
to  remain  on  good  terms  with  Louis  for  his  own  ends. 
Had  she  herself  all  the  time  suspected  Louis?  In 
the  harsh  realism  of  the  night  hours  she  was  not 
able  positively  to  assert  that  she  had  never  suspected 
him  until  after  Julian's  confession  had  made  her 
think;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  she  would  not  direct- 
ly accuse  herself  of  having  previously  suspected  him. 
The  worst  that  she  could  say  was  that  she  had  been 
determined  to  believe  him  guiltless.  She  loved  him; 
she  had  wanted  his  love;  she  would  permit  nothing 
to  prevent  their  coming  together;  and  so  in  her  mind 
she  had  established  his  innocence  apparently  beyond 
any  overthrowing.  She  might  have  allowed  herself 
to  surmise  that  in  the  early  past  he  had  been  naughty, 
untrustworthy,  even  wicked — but  that  was  different, 
that  did  not  concern  her.  His  innocence  with  re- 
gard to  the  bank-notes  alone  mattered.  And  she 
had  been  genuinely  convinced  of  it.  A  few  moments 
before  he  kissed  her  for  the  first  time,  she  had  been 
genuinely  convinced  of  it.  And  after  the  betrothal 
her  conviction  became  permanent.  She  tried  to 
scorn,  now,  the  passion  which  had  blinded  her.  Mrs. 
Maldon,  at  any  rate,  must  have  known  that  he  was 
connected  with  the  disappearance  of  the  notes.  In 
the  light  of  Louis'  confession  Rachel  could  see  all 
that  Mrs.  Maldon  was  implying  in  that  last  conver- 
sation between  them. 

322 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

So  that  she  might  win  him  she  had  been  ready  to 
throttle  every  doubt  of  his  honesty.  But  now  the 
indubitable  fact  that  he  was  a  thief  seemed  utterly 
monstrous  and  insupportable.  And,  moreover,  his 
crime  was  exceptionally  cruel.  Was  it  conceivable 
that  he  could  so  lightly  cause  so  much  distress  of 
spirit  to  a  woman  so  aged,  defenseless,  and  kind? 
According  to  the  doctor,  the  shock  of  the  robbery 
had  not  been  the  originating  cause  of  Mrs.  Maldon's 
death;  but  it  might  have  been;  quite  possibly  it 
had  hastened  death.  .  .  .  Louis  was  not  merely  a 
thief;   he  was  a  dastardly  thief. 

But  even  that  in  her  eyes  did  not  touch  the  full 
height  of  his  offense.  The  vilest  quality  in  him  was 
his  capacity  to  seem  innocent.  She  could  recall  the 
exact  tone  in  which  he  had  exclaimed:  "Would  you 
believe  that  old  Batch  practically  accused  me  of 
stealing  the  old  lady's  money?  .  .  .  Don't  you  think 
it's  a  shame?"  The  recollection  filled  her  with  frigid 
anger.  Her  resentment  of  the  long  lie  which  he  had 
lived  in  her  presence  since  their  betrothal  was  tre- 
mendous in  its  calm  acrimony.  A  man  who  could 
behave  as  he  had  behaved  would  stop  at  nothing, 
would  be  capable  of  all. 

She  contrasted  his  conduct  with  the  grim  candor 
of  Julian  Maldon,  whom  she  now  admired.  It  was 
strange  and  dreadful  that  both  the  cousins  should 
be  thieves;  the  prevalence  of  thieves  in  that  family 
gave  her  a  shudder.  But  she  could  not  judge 
Julian  Maldon  severely.  He  did  not  appear  to  her 
as  a  real  thief.  He  had  committed  merely  an  indis- 
cretion. It  was  his  atonement  that  made  her  ad- 
mire him.  Though  she  hated  confessions,  though  she 
had  burnt  his  exasperating  document,  she  neverthe- 

323 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

less  liked  the  manner  of  his  atonement.  Whereas 
she  contemned  Louis  for  having  confessed. 

"He  thought  he  was  dying  and  so  he  confessed !" 
she  reflected  with  asperity.  "He  hadn't  even  the 
pluck  to  go  through  with  what  he  had  begun.  .  .  . 
Ah!  If  I  had  committed  a  crime  and  once  denied 
it,  I  would  deny  it  with  my  last  breath,  and  no  tor- 
ture should  drag  it  out  of  me!" 

And  she  thought:  "I  am  punished.  This  is  my 
punishment  for  letting  myself  be  engaged  while  Mrs. 
Maldon  was  dying/ ' 

Often  she  had  dismissed  as  childish  the  notion 
that  she  was  to  blame  for  accepting  Louis  just  when 
she  did.  But  now  it  returned  full  of  power  and 
overwhelmed  her.  And  like  a  whipped  child  she 
remembered  Mrs.  Maldon's  warning:  "My  nephew 
is  not  to  be  trusted.  The  woman  who  married  him 
would  suffer  horribly."  And  she  was  the  woman 
who  had  married  him.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
warnings  of  the  dying  must  of  necessity  prove  to  be 
valid. 

Some  mysterious  phenomenon  on  the  window- 
blind  at  her  right  hand  attracted  her  attention,  and 
she  looked  round,  half  startled.  It  was  the  dawn, 
furtive  and  inexorable.  She  had  watched  dawns, 
and  she  had  watched  them  in  that  very  bedroom. 
Only  on  the  previous  morning  the  dawn  had  met  her 
smarting  and  wakeful  eyes,  and  she  had  imagined 
that  no  dawn  could  be  more  profoundly  sad ! .  .  .  And 
a  little  earlier  still  she  had  been  desolating  herself 
for  hours  because  Louis  was  going  to  be  careless 
about  his  investments,  because  he  was  unreliable 
and  she  would  have  to  watch  ceaselessly  over  his 
folly.    She  had  imagined,   then,   that  no  greater 

324 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

catastrophe  could  overtake  her  than  some  material 
result  of  his  folly!  .  .  .  What  a  trivial  apprehension! 
What  a  child  she  had  been ! 

In  the  excitement  and  alarm  of  his  accident  she 
had  honestly  forgotten  her  suspicions  of  him.  That 
disconcerted  her. 

She  rose  from  the  chair,  stiff.  The  stove,  with  its 
steady  faint  roar  of  imperfectly  consumed  gas,  had 
thoroughly  heated  the  room.  In  careful  silence  she 
put  the  tea  things  together.  Then  she  ventured  to 
glance  at  Louis.  He  was  asleep.  He  had  been 
restlessly  asleep  for  a  long  time.  She  eyed  him 
bitterly  in  his  bandages.  Only  last  night  she  had 
been  tormented  by  that  fear  that  his  face  might  be 
marked  for  life.  Again,  the  trivial!  What  did  it 
matter  whether  his  face  was  marked  for  life  or 
not?  .  .  . 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  attempt  to  realize  how 
intense  must  have  been  the  spiritual  tribulation 
which  had  forced  him  to  confess.  She  knew  that  he 
was  not  dying,  that  he  was  in  no  danger  whatever, 
and  she  was  perfectly  indifferent  to  the  genuineness 
of  his  own  conviction  that  he  was  dying.  She  simply 
thought,  "He  had  to  go  through  all  that.  If  he 
fancied  he  was  dying,  can  I  help  it?"  .  .  .  Then  she 
looked  at  her  own  empty  bed.  He  reposed;  he  slept. 
But  she  did  not  repose  nor  sleep. 

She  drew  aside  one  of  the  blinds,  and  as  she  did 
so  she  could  feel  the  steady  slight  current  of  cold 
air  entering  the  room  from  the  window  open  at  the 
top.  The  street  seemed  to  be  full  of  daylight.  The 
dawn  had  been  proceeding  in  its  vast  secrecy,  and 
was  now  accomplished.  She  drew  up  the  blind 
slowly,  and  then  the  gas-flame  over  the  dressing- 

325 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

table  seemed  so  pale  and  futile  that  she  extinguished 
it,  from  a  sort  of  pity.  In  silence  she  pulled  out  the 
iron  bolts  in  the  window-sash  that  had  been  Mrs. 
Maldon's  device  for  preventing  burglars  from  opening 
further  a  window  already  open  a  little,  thus  com- 
bining security  with  good  hygiene.  Louis  had 
laughed  at  these  bolts,  but  Mrs.  Maldon  had  so 
instilled  their  use  into  both  Rachel  and  Mrs.  Tarns 
that  to  insert  them  at  night  was  part  of  the  un- 
changeable routine  of  the  house.  Rachel  gently 
pushed  up  the  lower  sash  and  looked  forth. 

Bycars  Lane,  though  free  from  mud,  was  every- 
where heavily  bedewed.  The  narrow  pavement 
glistened.  The  roofs  glistened.  Drops  of  water 
hung  on  all  the  edges  of  the  great  gas-lamp  beneath 
her,  which  was  still  defying  the  dawn.  The  few 
miserable  trees  and  bushes  on  the  vague  lands 
beyond  the  lane  were  dripping  with  water.  The  sky 
was  low  and  heavy,  in  scarcely  distinguishable 
shades  of  purplish  gray,  and  Bycars  Pool,  of  which 
she  had  a  glimpse,  appeared  in  its  smooth  blackness 
to  be  not  more  wet  than  the  rest  of  the  scene.  Noth- 
ing stirred.  Not  the  tiniest  branch  stirred  on  the 
leafless  trees,  nor  a  leaf  on  a  gray  rhododendron  bush 
in  a  front  garden  below.  Every  window  within  sight 
had  its  blind  drawn.  No  smoke  rose  from  any  house- 
chimney,  and  the  distant  industrial  smoke  on  the 
horizon  hung  in  the  lower  air,  just  under  the  clouds, 
undecided  and  torpid.  The  wet  air  was  moveless, 
and  yet  she  could  feel  it  impinging  with  its  cool, 
sharp  humidity  on  her  cheek. 

The  sensation  of  this  contact  was  delicious.  She 
was  surrounded,  not  by  the  slatternly  Five  Towns' 
landscape  and  by  the  wretchedness  of  the  familiar 

326 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

bedroom,  but  by  the  unanswerable,  intimidating, 
inspiring  mystery  of  life  itself.  A  man  came  hurry- 
ing with  a  pole  out  of  the  western  vista  of  the  lane, 
and  stopped  in  front  of  the  gas-lamp,  and  in  an 
instant  the  flame  was  reduced  to  a  little  fat  worm  of 
blue,  and  the  man  passed  swiftly  up  the  lane,  looking 
straight  ahead  with  bent  shoulders,  and  was  gone. 
Never  before  had  Rachel  actually  seen  the  lamp 
put  out.  Never  before  had  she  noticed,  as  she  no- 
ticed now,  that  the  lamp  had  a  number,  an  identity 
— 1054.  The  meek  acquiescence  of  the  lamp,  and 
the  man's  preoccupied  haste,  seemed  to  bear  some 
deep  significance,  which,  however,  she  could  not 
seize.  But  the  aspect  of  the  man  afflicted  her,  and 
she  did  not  know  why. 

Then  a  number  of  other  figures,  in  a  long  spas- 
modic procession,  passed  up  the  lane  after  the  man, 
and  were  gone  out  of  sight.  Their  heavy  boots 
clacked  on  the  pavement.  They  wore  thick  dirty 
grayish-black  clothes,  but  no  overcoats;  small  tight 
caps  in  their  hands,  and  dark  kerchiefs  round  their 
necks:  about  thirty  of  them  in  all,  colliers  on  their 
way  to  one  of  the  pits  on  the  Moorthorne  ridge. 
They  walked  quickly,  but  they  did  not  hurry  as 
their  forerunner  hurried.  Several  of  them  smoked 
pipes.  Though  some  walked  in  pairs,  none  spoke; 
none  looked  up  or  aside.  With  one  man  walked 
stolidly  a  young  woman,  her  overskirt  raised  and 
pulled  round  her  head  from  the  back  for  a  shawl;  but 
even  these  two  did  not  converse.  The  procession 
closed  with  one  or  two  stragglers.  Rachel  had  never 
seen  these  pilgrims  before,  but  she  had  heard  them; 
and  Mrs.  Maldon  had  been  acquainted  with  all  their 
footfalls.     They  were  tragic  to  Rachel;  they  infected 

327 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

her  with  the  most  recondite  horror  of  existence;  they 
left  tragedy  floating  behind  them  in  the  lane  like  an 
invisible  but  oppressive  cloud.  Their  utterly  in- 
curious indifference  to  Rachel  in  her  peignoir  at  the 
window  was  somehow  harrowing. 

The  dank  lane  and  vaporous,  stagnant  landscape 
were  once  more  dead  and  silent,  and  would  for  a  long 
time  remain  so,  for  though  potters  begin  work  early, 
colliers  begin  work  much  earlier,  living  in  a  world  of 
customs  of  their  own.  At  last  a  thin  column  of 
smoke  issued  magically  from  a  chimney  down  to 
the  left.  Some  woman  was  about;  some  woman's 
day  had  opened  within  that  house.  At  the  thought 
of  that  unseen  woman  in  that  unknown  house  Rachel 
could  have  cried.  She  could  not  remain  at  the 
window.  She  was  unhappy;  but  it  was  not  her  woe 
that  overcame  her,  for  if  sh$  was  unhappy,  her 
unhappiness  was  nevertheless  exquisite.  It  was  the 
mere  realization  that  men  and  women  lived  that 
rendered  her  emotions  almost  insupportable.  She 
felt  her  youth.  She  thought,  "I  am  only  a  girl,  and 
yet  my  life  is  ruined  already."  And  even  that 
thought  she  hugged  amorously  as  though  it  were 
beautiful.  Amid  the  full  disaster  and  regret,  she 
was  glad  to  be  alive.  She  could  not  help  exulting 
in  the  dreadful  moment. 

She  closed  the  sash  and  began  to  dress,  seldom 
glancing  at  Louis,  who  slept  and  dreamed  and 
muttered.  When  she  was  dressed  she  looked  care- 
fully in  the  drawer  where  he  deposited  certain  articles 
from  his  pockets,  in  order  to  find  the  bundle  of  notes 
left  by  Julian.  In  vain !  Then  she  searched  for  his 
bunch  of  keys  (which  ultimately  she  found  in  one 
of  his  pockets)  and.  unlocked  his  private  drawer. 

328 


RUNAWAY    HORSES 

The  bundle  of  notes  lay  there.  She  removed  it,  and 
hid  it  away  in  one  of  her  own  secret  places.  After 
she  had  made  preparations  to  get  ready  some  in- 
valid's food  at  short  notice,  she  went  down-stairs. 


VII 

She  went  down-stairs  without  any  definite  purpose 
— merely  because  activity  of  some  kind  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  her.  The  clock  in  the  lobby 
showed  dimly  a  quarter  past  five.  In  the  chilly 
twilit  kitchen  the  green-lined  silver-basket  lay  on  the 
table  in  front  of  the  window,  placed  there  by  a  thought- 
ful and  conscientious  Mrs.  Tarns.  On  the  previous 
morning  Rachel  had  given  very  precise  orders  about 
the  silver  (as  the  workaday  electro-plate  was  called), 
but  owing  to  the  astounding  events  of  the  day  the 
orders  had  not  been  executed.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  evi- 
dently determined  to  carry  them  out  at  an  early  hour. 

Rachel  opened  a  cupboard  and  drew  forth  the 
apparatus  for  cleaning.  She  was  intensely  fatigued, 
weary,  and  seemingly  spiritless,  but  she  began  to 
clean  the  silver — at  first  without  energy,  and  then 
with  serious  application.  She  stood  at  the  table, 
cleaning,  as  she  had  stood  there  when  Louis  came 
into  her  kitchen  on  the  night  of  the  robbery ;  and  she 
thought  of  his  visit  and  of  her  lost  bliss,  and  the 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes  on  the  newspaper  which 
protected  the  whiteness  of  the  scrubbed  table.  She 
would  not  think  of  the  future;  could  not.  She  went 
on  cleaning,  and  that  silver  had  never  been  cleaned 
as  she  cleaned  it  then.  She  cleaned  it  with  every 
attribute  of  herself,  forgetting  her  fatigue.  The 
tears  dried  on  her  cheek.     The  faithful,  scrupulous 

329 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

work  either  drugged  or  solaced  her.  Just  as  she  was 
finishing,  Mrs.  Tarns,  with  her  immense  bodice  un- 
fastened, came  down-stairs,  apronless.  The  lobby 
clock  struck  six. 

"Eh,  missis!"  breathed  Mrs.  Tarns.   "What's  this?" 

Rachel  gave  a  nervous  laugh. 

"I  was  up.  Mr.  Fores  was  asleep,  and  I  had  to 
do  something,  so  I  thought — " 

"Has  he  had  a  good  night,  ma'am?" 

"Fair.  Yes,  pretty  good.  I  must  run  up  and 
see  if  he  is  awake." 

Mrs.  Tarns  saw  the  stains  on  Rachel's  cheeks,  but 
she  could  not  mention  them.  Rachel  had  an  im- 
pulse to  fall  on  Mrs.  Tams's  enormous  breast  and 
weep.  But  the  conventions  of  domesticity  were  far 
too  strong  for  her  also.  Mrs.  Tarns  was  the  general 
servant;  what  Louis  occasionally  called  "the  es- 
teemed skivvy."  Once  Mrs.  Tarns  had  been  wife, 
mother,  grandmother,  victim,  slave,  diplomatist, 
serpent,  heroine.  Once  she  had  bent  from  morn  till 
night  under  the  terrific  weight  of  a  million  perils  and 
responsibilities.  Once  she  could  never  be  sure  of 
her  next  meal,  or  the  roof  over  her  head,  or  her  skin, 
or  even  her  bones.  Once  she  had  been  the  last  re- 
source and  refuge  not  merely  of  a  house,  but  of  half 
a  street,  and  she  had  had  a  remedy  for  every  ill, 
a  balm  for  every  wound.  But  now  she  was  safe, 
out  of  harm's  way.  She  had  no  responsibilities  worth 
a  rap.  She  had  everything  an  old  woman  ought  to 
desire.  And  yet  the  silly  old  woman  felt  a  lack,  as 
she  impotently  watched  Rachel  leave  the  kitchen. 
Perhaps  she  wanted  her  eye  blacked,  or  the  menace 
of  a  policeman,  or  a  child  down  with  diphtheria,  to 
remind  her  that  the  world  revolved. 


XIII 

DEAD-LOCK 


LOUIS  had  wakened  up  a  few  minutes  before 
^  Rachel  returned  to  the  bedroom  from  that 
most  wonderfully  conscientious  spell  of  silver-clean- 
ing. He  was  relieved  to  find  himself  alone.  He  was 
ill,  perhaps  very  ill,  but  he  felt  unquestionably  bet- 
ter than  in  the  night.  He  was  delivered  from  the 
appalling  fear  of  death  which  had  tortured  and  fright- 
ened him,  and  his  thankfulness  was  intense;  and 
yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  aware  of  a  sort  of  heroic- 
al  sentimental  regret  that  he  was  not,  after  all,  dead; 
he  would  almost  have  preferred  to  die  with  grandeur, 
young,  unfortunate,  wept  for  by  an  inconsolable 
wife  doomed  to  everlasting  widowhood.  He  was 
ashamed  of  his  bodily  improvement,  which  rendered 
him  uncomfortably  self-conscious,  for  he  had  be- 
haved as  though  dying  when,  as  the  event  proved, 
he  was  not  dying. 

When  Rachel  came  in,  this  self-consciousness  grew 
terrible.  And  in  his  weakness,  his  constraint,  his 
febrile  perturbation  which  completely  destroyed 
presence  of  mind,  he  feebly  remarked: 

"Did  anyone  call  yesterday  to  ask  how  I  was?" 
As  soon  as  he  had  said  it  he  knew  that  it  was 

33i 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

I 

inept,  and  quite  unsuitable  to  the  r61e  which  he 
ought  to  play. 

Rachel  had  gone  straight  to  the  dressing-table, 
apparently  ignoring  him,  though  she  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  failed  to  notice  that  he  was  awake.  She 
turned  sharply  and  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of 
inimical  contempt  that  aggrieved  and  scarified  him 
very  acutely.  Making  no  answer  to  his  query,  con- 
tent solely  to  condemn  it  with  her  eyes  as  egotistic 
and  vain,  she  said: 

"I'm  going  to  make  you  some  food." 

And  then  she  curtly  showed  him  her  bent  back, 
and  over  the  foot  of  the  bed  he  could  see  her  prepara- 
tions— preliminary  stirring  with  a  spoon,  the  placing 
of  the  bright  tin  saucepan  on  the  lamp,  the  opening 
of  the  wick,  the  quick  seizing  of  the  match-box. 

As  soon  as  the  cooking  was  in  train,  she  threw  up 
the  window  wide  and  then  came  to  the  bed. 

"I'll  just  put  your  bed  to  rights  again,"  she  re- 
marked, and  seized  the  pillow,  waiting  implacably 
for  him  to  raise  his  head.  He  had  to  raise  his 
head. 

"I'm  very  ill,"  he  moaned. 

She  replied  in  a  tone  of  calm  indifference: 

"I  know  you  are.  But  you'll  soon  be  better. 
You're  getting  a  little  better  every  hour."  And  she 
finished  arranging  the  bed,  which  was  presently  in  a 
state  of  smooth  geometrical  correctness.  He  could 
find  no  fault  with  her  efficiency,  nor  with  her  careful 
handling  of  his  sensitive  body.  But  the  hard,  the 
marmoreal  cruelty  of  his  wife's  spirit  exquisitely 
wounded  his  soul,  which,  after  all,  was  at  least  as 
much  in  need  of  consolation  as  his  body.  He  was 
positively  daunted. 

332 


DEAD-LOCK 

ii 

He  had  passed  through  dreadful  moments  in  the 
early  part  of  the  night,  while  Rachel  slept.  When 
he  had  realized  that  he  was  doomed — f  or  the  con- 
viction that  death  was  upon  him  had  been  absolutely- 
sincere  and  final  for  a  long  time — he  was  panic- 
stricken,  impressed,  and  strangely  proud,  all  at 
once.  But  the  panic  was  paramount.  He  was 
afraid,  horribly  afraid.  His  cowardice  was  ghastly, 
even  to  himself,  shot  through  though  it  was  by  a 
peculiar  appreciation  of  the  grandiosity  of  his  fate 
as  a  martyr  to  clumsy  chance.  He  was  reduced  by 
it  to  the  trembling  repentant  sinner,  as  the  proud 
prisoner  is  reduced  to  abjection  by  prolonged  and 
secret  torture  in  Oriental  prisons.  He  ranged  in 
fright  over  the  whole  of  his  career,  and  was  obliged 
to  admit,  and  to  admit  with  craven  obsequiousness, 
that  he  had  been  a  wicked  man,  obstinate  in  wicked- 
ness. 

He  remembered  matters  which  had  utterly  van- 
ished from  his  memory.  He  remembered,  for  exam- 
ple, the  excellence  of  his  moral  aspirations  when  he 
had  first  thought  of  Rachel  as  a  wife,  and  the  firm, 
high  resolves  which  were  to  be  carried  out  if  he 
married  her.  Forgotten!  Forgotten!  As  soon  as 
he  had  won  her  he  had  thought  of  nothing  but  self- 
indulgence,  pleasure,  capricious  delights.  His  tailor 
still  languished  for  money  long  justly  due.  He  had 
not  even  restored  the  defalcations  in  Horrocleave's 
petty  cash.  Of  course  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  restore  a  sum  comparatively  so  large  without 
causing  suspicion.  To  restore  it  would  have  in- 
volved a  long  series  of  minute  acts,  alterations  of 

333 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

alterations  in  the  cash  entries,  and  constant  in- 
genuity in  a  hundred  ways.  But  it  ought  to  have 
been  done,  and  might  have  been  done.  It  might 
have  been  done.  He  admitted  that  candidly,  fully, 
with  despicable  tremblings.  .  .  . 

And  the  worst  of  all,  naturally,  was  the  theft  from 
his  aunt.  Theft?  Was  it  a  theft?  He  had  never 
before  consented  to  define  the  affair  as  a  theft ;  it  had 
been  a  misfortune,  an  indiscretion.  But  now  he  was 
ready  to  call  it  a  theft,  in  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 
For  the  sake  of  placating  Omnipotence  let  it  be 
deemed  a  theft,  and  even  a  mean  theft,  entailing  dire 
consequences  on  a  weak  old  woman!  Let  it  be  as 
bad  as  the  severest  judge  chose  to  make  it!  He 
would  not  complain.  He  would  accept  the  arraign- 
ment (though  really  he  had  not  been  so  blameworthy, 
etc.  .  .  .  ).  He  knew  that  with  all  his  sins  he 
possessed  the  virtues  of  good  nature,  kindness,  and 
politeness.  He  was  not  wholly  vile.  In  some  ways 
he  honestly  considered  himself  a  model  to  mankind. 

And  then  he  had  recalled  certain  information 
received  in  childhood  from  authoritative  persons 
about  the  merciful  goodness  of  God.  His  childhood 
had  been  rather  ceremoniously  religious,  for  his  step- 
uncle,  the  Lieutenant-General,  was  a  great  defender 
of  Christianity  as  well  as  of  the  British  Empire.  The 
Lieutenant-General  had  even  written  a  pamphlet 
against  a  ribald  iconoclastic  book  published  by  the 
Rationalist  Press  Association,  in  which  pamphlet 
he  had  made  a  sorry  mess  of  Herbert  Spencer.  All 
the  Lieutenant-General's  relatives  and  near  admirers 
went  to  church,  and  they  all  went  to  precisely  the 
same  kind  of  church,  for  no  other  kind  would  have 
served,     Louis,  however,  had  really  liked  going  to 

334 


DEAD-LOCK 

church.  There  had  once  even  been  a  mad  suggestion 
that  he  should  become  a  choir-boy,  but  the  Lieu- 
tenant-General  had  naturally  decided  that  it  was  not 
meet  for  a  child  of  breeding  to  associate  with  plebe- 
ians in  order  to  chant  the  praises  of  the  Almighty. 

Louis  at  his  worst  had  never  quite  ceased  to 
attend  church,  though  he  was  under  the  impression 
that  his  religious  views  had  broadened,  if  not  en- 
tirely changed.  Beneath  the  sudden  heavy  menace 
of  death  he  discovered  that  his  original  views  were, 
after  all,  the  most  authentic  and  the  strongest.  And 
he  had  much  longed  for  converse  with  a  clergyman, 
who  would  repeat  to  him  the  beautiful  reassurances 
of  his  infancy.  Even  late  in  the  afternoon,  hours 
before  the  supreme  crisis,  he  would  have  welcomed 
a  clergyman,  for  he  was  already  beginning  to  be 
afraid.  He  would  have  liked  a  clergyman  to  drop 
in  by  accident;  he  would  have  liked  the  first  advances 
to  come  from  the  clergyman. 

But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  suggest  that 
the  rector  of  St.  Luke's,  of  whose  flock  he  now 
formed  part,  should  be  sent  for.  He  had  demanded 
a  lawyer,  and  that  was  as  near  to  a  clergyman  as 
he  could  get.  He  had  been  balked  of  the  lawyer. 
Further  on  in  the  evening,  when  his  need  was  more 
acute  and  his  mind  full  of  frightful  secret  appre- 
hensions, he  was  as  far  as  ever  from  obtaining  a 
clergyman.  And  he  knew  that,  though  his  eternal 
welfare  might  somehow  depend  on  the  priest,  he 
could  never  articulate  to  Rachel  the  words,  "I 
should  like  to  see  a  clergyman."  It  would  seem  too 
absurd  to  ask  for  a  clergyman.  .  .  .  Strangeness  of 
the  human  heart ! 

It  was  after  Rachel  had  fallen  asleep  that  the  idea 
335 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

of  confession  had  occurred  to  him  as  a  means  towards 
safety  in  the  future  life.  The  example  of  Julian  had 
inspired  him.  He  had  despised  Julian;  he  had 
patronized  Julian;  but  in  his  extremity  he  had  been 
ready  to  imitate  him.  He  seemed  to  conceive  that 
confession  before  death  must  be  excellent  for  the 
soul.  At  any  rate,  it  prevented  one  from  going 
down  to  the  tomb  with  a  lie  tacit  on  the  lips.  He 
was  very  ill,  very  weak,  very  intimidated.  And  he 
was  very  solitary  and  driven  in  on  himself — not  so 
much  because  Rachel  had  gone  to  sleep  as  because 
neither  Rachel  nor  anybody  else  would  believe  that 
he  was  really  dying.  His  spirit  was  absorbed  in  the 
gravest  preoccupations  that  can  trouble  a  man.  His 
need  of  sympathy  and  succor  was  desperate.  Thus 
he  had  wakened  Rachel.  At  first  she  had  been  as 
sympathetic  and  consoling  as  he  could  desire.  She 
had  held  his  hand  and  sat  on  the  bed.  The  momen- 
tary relief  was  wonderful.  And  he  had  been  encour- 
aged to  confess. 

He  had  prodded  himself  on  to  confession  by  the 
thought  that  Rachel  must  have  known  of  his  guilt 
all  along — otherwise  she  would  never  have  told  that 
senseless  lie  about  the  scullery  door  being  open. 
Hence  his  confession  could  not  surprise  her.  She 
would  receive  it  in  the  right,  loving,  wifely  attitude, 
telling  him  that  he  was  making  too  much  of  a  little, 
that  it  was  splendid  of  him  to  confess,  and  generally 
exonerating  and  rehabilitating  him. 

Then  he  had  begun  to  confess.  The  horrible 
change  in  her  tone  as  he  came  to  the  point  had 
unnerved  him.  Her  wild  sobs  when  the  confession 
was  made  completed  his  dismay.  And  then,  after- 
wards, her  incredible  harshness   and   cruelty,  her 

336 


DEAD-LOCK 

renewed  refusal,  flat  and  disdainful,  to  believe  that 
he  was  dying — these  things  were  the  most  wounding 
experience  of  his  entire  existence.  As  for  her  refusal 
to  listen  to  the  rest  of  his  story,  the  important  part, 
the  exculpatory  part — it  was  monstrously  unjust. 
Ho  had  had  an  instant's  satisfaction  on  beholding  her 
confusion  at  being  charged  with  the  lie  about  the 
scullery  door,  but  it  was  a  transient  advantage.  He 
was  so  ill.  .  .  .  She  had  bullied  him  with  the  lacer- 
ating emphasis  of  her  taciturn  remarks.  .  .  .  And 
at  last  she  had  requested  him  not  to  make  it  any 
more  awkward  for  her!  .  .  , 


in 

When  he  had  obediently  taken  the  food  and 
thanked  her  for  it  very  nicely,  he  felt  much  better. 
The  desire  for  a  clergyman,  or  even  for  a  lawyer, 
passed  away  from  his  mind;  he  forgot  the  majority 
of  his  sins  and  his  aspirations,  and  the  need  for 
restoring  the  defalcations  to  Jim  Horrocleave  seemed 
considerably  less  urgent.  Rachel  stayed  by  him 
while  he  ate,  but  she  would  not  meet  his  glance,  and 
looked  carefully  at  the  window. 

"As  soon  as  I've  tidied  up  the  room,  I'll  just 
sponge  your  hands,"  said  she.  "The  doctor  will  be 
here  early.     I  suppose  I  mustn't  touch  your  face." 

Louis  inquired : 

"How  do  you  know  he'll  be  here  early?" 

"He  said  he  should — because  of  the  dressings,  you 
know." 

She  went  to  work  on  the  room,  producing  a  duster 
from  somewhere,  and  ringing  for  Mrs.  Tarns,  who, 
however,  was  not  permitted  to  enter.  Louis  hated 
22  337 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

these  preparations  for  the  doctor.  He  had  never 
in  his  life  been  able  to  understand  why  women  were 
always  so  absurdly  afraid  of  the  doctor's  eye.  As 
if  the  doctor  would  care!  Moreover,  the  room  was 
being  tidied  for  the  doctor,  not  for  the  invalid !  The 
invalid  didn't  matter !  When  she  came  to  him  with 
a  bowl  of  water,  soap,  and  a  towel,  he  loathed  the 
womanish  scheme  of  being  washed  in  bed. 

"I'll  get  up,"  he  said.  "I'm  lots  better."  He 
had  previously  intended  to  feign  extreme  illness,  but 
he  forgot. 

"Oh  no,  you  won't,"  she  replied,  coldly.  "First 
you  think  you're  dying,  and  then  you  think  you're  all 
right.  You  won't  stir  out  of  that  bed  till  the  doctor's 
been,  at  any  rate." 

And  she  lodged  the  bowl  dangerously  between 
his  knees.  He  pretended  to  be  contemptuous  of  her 
refusal  to  let  him  get  up,  but  in  fact  he  was  glad  of 
an  excuse  for  not  making  good  his  boast.  His  pre- 
vious statement  that  he  was  very  ill  was  much  nearer 
to  the  truth  than  the  fine  talking  about  being  "lots 
better."  If  not  very  ill,  he  was,  at  any  rate,  more 
ill  than  he  now  thought  he  was,  and  eating  had 
fatigued  him.  Nevertheless,  he  would  wash  his 
own  hands.  Rachel  yielded  to  him  in  this  detail 
with  cynical  indifference.  She  put  the  towel  by 
the  bowl,  and  left  him  to  balance  the  bowl  and  keep 
the  soap  off  the  counterpane  as  best  he  could,  while 
she  rummaged  in  one  of  the  drawers  of  the  ward- 
robe— obviously  for  the  simple  sake  of  rummaging. 

Her  unwifeliness  was  astounding;  it  was  so  as- 
tounding that  Louis  did  not  all  at  once  quite  realize 
how  dangerously  he  was  wounded  by  it.  He  had 
seen  that  hard,  contumelious  mask  on  her  face  several 

338 


DEAD-LOCK 

times  before;  he  had  seen  it,  for  instance,  when  she 
had  been  expressing  her  views  on  Councilor  Batch- 
grew;  but  he  had  not  conceived,  in  his  absurd  male 
confidence,  that  it  would  ever  be  directed  against 
himself.  He  could  not  snatch  the  mask  from  her 
face,  but  he  wondered  how  he  might  pierce  it,  and 
incidentally  hurt  her  and  make  her  cry  softly.  Ah! 
He  had  seen  her  in  moods  of  softness  which  were 
celestial  to  him — surpassing  all  dreams  of  felicity! 

The  conviction  of  his  own  innocence  and  victim- 
hood  strengthened  in  him.  Amid  the  morbid  ex- 
citations of  the  fear  of  death,  he  had  forgotten  that 
in  strict  truth  he  had  not  stolen  a  penny  from  his 
great-aunt,  that  he  was  utterly  innocent.  He  now 
vividly  remembered  that  his  sole  intention  in  taking 
possession  of  the  bank-notes  had  been  to  teach  his 
great-aunt  a  valuable  lesson  about  care  in  the  guard- 
ing of  money.  Afterwards  he  had  meant  to  put  the 
notes  back  where  he  had  found  them;  chance  had 
prevented;  he  had  consistently  acted  for  the  best 
in  very  sudden  difficulties,  and  after  all,  in  the  result, 
it  was  not  he  who  was  responsible  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  notes,  but  Rachel.  .  .  .  True,  that  in  the 
night  his  vision  of  the  affair  had  been  less  favorable 
to  himself,  but  in  the  night  illness  had  vitiated  his 
judgment,  which  was  not  strange,  seeing  the  dread- 
ful accident  he  had  experienced.  .  .  .  He  might  have 
died,  and  where  would  Rachel  have  been  then?  .  .  . 
Was  it  not  amazing  that  a  young  wife  who  had  just 
escaped  widowhood  so  narrowly  could  behave  to  a 
husband,  a  seriously  sick  husband,  as  Rachel  was 
behaving  to  him? 

He  wished  that  he  had  not  used  the  word  "  collar  " 
in  confessing  to  Rachel.    It  was  equal  to  "steal" 

339 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Its  significance  was  undebatable.  Yes,  "collar"  was 
a  grave  error  of  phrasing. 

"I'm  about  done  with  this  basin  thing,"  he  said, 
with  all  possible  dignity,  and  asked  for  brushes  of 
various  sorts  for  the  completion  of  his  toilet.  She 
served  him  slowly,  coolly.  Her  intention  was  clear 
to  act  as  a  capable  but  frigid  nurse — not  as  a  wife. 
He  saw  that  she  thought  herself  the  wife  of  a  thief, 
and  that  she  was  determined  not  to  be  the  wife  of 
a  thief.  He  could  not  bear  it.  The  situation  must 
be  changed  immediately,  because  his  pride  was 
bleeding  to  death.  v 

"I  say,"  he  began,  when  she  had  taken  away  the 
towel  and  his  tooth-powder. 

"What?"     Her  tone  challenged  him. 

"You  wouldn't  let  me  finish  last  night.  I  just 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  didn't — " 

1  ■  I've  no  wish  to  hear  another  word."  She  stopped 
him,  precisely  as  she  had  stopped  him  in  the  night. 
She  was  at  the  wash-stand. 

"I  should  be  obliged  if  you'd  look  at  me  when 
you  speak  to  me,"  he  reproached  her  manners.  ' '  It's 
only  polite." 

She  turned  to  him  with  face  flaming.  They  were 
both  aware  that  his  deportment  was  better  than  hers; 
and  he  perceived  that  the  correction  had  abraded 
her  susceptibility. 

"I'll  look  at  you  all  right,"  she  answered,  curtly 
and  rather  loudly. 

He  adopted  a  superior  attitude. 

"Of  course  I'm  ill  and  weak,"  he  said,  "but  even 
if  I  am  I  suppose  I'm  entitled  to  some  consideration." 
He  lay  back  on  the  pillow. 

"I  can't  help  your  being  ill,"  she  answered.  "It's 
340 


DEAD-LOCK 

not  my  fault.  And  if  you're  so  ill  and  weak  as  all 
that,  it  seems  to  me  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is 
to  be  quiet  and  not  talk,  especially  about — about 
that!" 

"Well,  perhaps  you'll  let  me  be  the  best  judge  of 
what  I  ought  to  talk  about.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to 
talk  about  it,  and  you're  going  to  listen." 

"I'm  not." 

"I  say  you're  going  to  listen,"  he  insisted,  turning 
on  his  side  towards  her.  "And  why  not?  Why, 
what  on  earth  did  I  say  last  night,  after  all,  I  should 
like  to  know." 

"You  said  you'd  taken  the  other  part  of  the  money 
of  Mrs.  Maldon's — that's  what  you  said.  You 
thought  you  were  dying,  and  so  you  told  me." 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  explain.  I'm  going 
to  explain  it  to  you." 

"No  explanations  for  me,  thanks!"  she  sneered, 
walking  in  the  direction  of  the  hearth.  "I'd  sooner 
hear  anything,  anything,  than  your  explanations." 
She  seemed  to  shudder. 

He  nerved  himself. 

"I  tell  you  I  found  that  money,"  he  cried,  recom- 
mencing. 

"Well,  good-by,"  she  said,  moving  to  the  door. 
"You  don't  seem  to  understand." 

At  the  same  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the 
door. 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Tarns,"  said  Rachel,  calmly. 

"She  mustn't  come  in  now,"  Louis  protested. 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Tarns,"  Rachel  repeated,  de- 
cisively. 

And  Mrs.  Tarns  entered,  courtesying  towards  the 
bed. 

34i 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

"What  is  it?"  Rachel  asked  her. 

"It's  the  greengrocer's  cart,  ma'am."  The  green- 
grocer usually  did  send  round  on  Saturday  mornings. 

"Ill  go  down.  Just  clear  up  that  wash-stand,  will 
you?" 

It  was  remarkable  to  Louis  how  chance  would 
favor  a  woman  in  an  altercation.  But  he  had  de- 
cided, even  if  somewhat  hysterically,  to  submit  to 
no  more  delay,  and  to  end  the  altercation — and 
moreover,  to  end  it  in  his  own  way. 

"Rachel,"  he  called.  Several  times  he  called  her 
name,  more  and  more  loudly.  He  ignored  what  was 
due  to  servants,  to  greengrocers,  and  to  the  dignity 
of  employers.     He  kept  on  calling. 

"Shall  I  fetch  missis,  sir?"  Mrs.  Tarns  suggested 
at  length. 

He  nodded.  Mrs.  Tarns  departed,  laden.  Cer- 
tainly the  fat  creature,  from  whom  nothing  could  be 
hid  by  a  younger  generation,  had  divined  that  strife 
had  supervened  on  illness,  and  that  great  destinies 
hung  upon  the  issue.  Neither  Mrs.  Tarns  nor  Rachel 
returned  to  the  bedroom.  Louis  began  again  to  call 
for  Rachel,  and  then  to  yell  for  her.  He  could  feel 
that  the  effort  was  exhausting  him,  but  he  was  de- 
termined to  vanquish  her. 


IV 

Without  a  sound  she  startlingly  appeared  in  the 
room. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  inquired,  with  her  ir- 
ritating assumption  of  tranquillity. 

"You  know  what's  the  matter." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  scream  like  a  baby,"  she  said. 
342 


DEAD-LOCK 

"You  know  I  want  to  speak  to  you,  and  you're 
keeping  out  of  the  way  on  purpose.' ' 

Rachel  said  : 

"Look  here,  Louis!  Do  you  want  me  to  leave  the 
house  altogether?" 

He  thought: 

"What  is  she  saying?  We've  only  been  married 
a  few  weeks.     This  is  getting  serious." 

Aloud  he  answered: 

"Of  course  I  don't  want  you  to  leave  the  house." 

"Well,  then,  don't  say  any  more.  Because  if 
you  do,  I  shall.  I've  heard  all  I  want  to  hear. 
There  are  some  things  I  can  bear,  and  some  I  can't 
bear." 

"If  you  don't  listen — !"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm 
warning  you!" 

She  glanced  at  the  thief  in  him,  and  at  the  coward 
penitent  of  the  night,  with  the  most  desolating  dis- 
dain, and  left  the  room.  That  was  her  answer  to 
his  warning. 

"All  right,  my  girl!  All  right!"  he  said  to  him- 
self, when  she  had  gone,  pulling  together  his  self- 
esteem,  his  self-pity,  and  his  masculinity.  "You'll 
regret  this.  You  see  if  you  don't.  As  to  leaving  the 
house,  we  shall  see  who'll  leave  the  house.  Wait  till 
I'm  on  my  legs  again.  If  there  is  to  be  a  scandal, 
there  shall  be  a  scandal." 

One  thing  was  absolutely  sure — he  could  not  and 
would  not  endure  her  contumely,  nor  even  her  in- 
different scorn.  For  him  to  live  with  it  would  be 
ridiculous  as  well  as  impossible.  He  was  weak,  but 
two  facts  gave  him  enormous  strength.  First,  he 
loved  her  less  than  she  loved  him,  and  hence  she 
was  at  a  disadvantage.     But  supposing  her  passion 

343 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

for  him  was  destroyed?  Then  the  second  fact  came 
into  play.  He  had  money.  He  had  thousands  of 
pounds,  loose,  available !  To  such  a  nature  as  his  the 
control  of  money  gives  a  sense  of  everlasting  security. 
Already  he  dreamt  of  freedom,  of  roaming  the  wide 
world,  subject  to  no  yoke  but  a  bachelor's  whim. 


XIV 

THE    MARKET 


RACHEL  thought  she  understood  all  Louis'  men- 
tal processes.  With  the  tragic  self-confidence 
of  the  inexperienced  wife,  she  was  convinced  that  she 
had  nothing  to  learn  about  the  secret  soul  of  the 
stranger  to  whom  she  had  utterly  surrendered  herself, 
reserving  from  him  naught  of  the  maiden.  Each 
fresh  revelation  of  him  she  imagined  to  be  final, 
completing  her  studies.  In  fact,  it  would  have  taken 
at  least  ten  years  of  marriage  to  prove  to  her  that 
a  perception  of  ignorance  is  the  summit  of  knowledge. 
She  had  not  even  realized  that  human  nature  is 
chiefly  made  up  of  illogical  and  absurd  contradic- 
tions. Thus  she  left  the  house  that  Saturday  morn- 
ing, gloomy,  perhaps  hopeless,  certainly  quite  un- 
decided as  to  the  future,  but  serene,  sure  of  her 
immediate  position,  and  sure  that  Louis  would  act 
like  Louis.  She  knew  that  she  had  the  upper  hand, 
both  physically  and  morally.  The  doctor  had  called 
and  done  his  work,  and  given  a  very  reassuring 
report.  She  left  Louis  to  Mrs.  Tarns,  as  was  entirely 
justifiable,  merely  informing  him  that  she  had  neces- 
sary errands,  and  even  this  information  she  gave 
through  her  veil,  a  demure  contrivance  which  she 

345 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

had  adapted  for  the  first  time  on  her  honeymoon. 
It  was  his  r61e  to  accept  her  august  decisions. 

The  forenoon  was  better  than  the  dawn.  The  sun 
had  emerged;  the  moisture  had  nearly  disappeared, 
except  in  the  road;  and  the  impulse  of  spring  was 
moving  in  the  trees  and  in  the  bodies  of  young 
women;  the  sky  showed  a  virginal  blue;  the  wander- 
ing clouds  were  milky  and  rounded;  the  breeze  in- 
finitely soft.  It  seemed  to  be  in  an  earlier  age  that 
the  dark  colliers  had  silently  climbed  the  steep  of 
Bycars  Lane  amid  the  dankness,  and  that  the  first 
column  of  smoke  had  risen  forlornly  from  the 
chimney. 

In  spite  of  her  desolated  heart,  and  of  her  primness, 
Rachel  stepped  forward  airily.  She  was  going  forth 
to  an  enormous  event,  namely,  her  first  apparition 
in  the  shopping  streets  of  the  town  on  a  Saturday 
morning  as  Mrs.  Louis  Fores,  married  woman.  She 
might  have  postponed  it,  but  into  what  future? 
Moreover,  she  was  ashamed  of  being  diffident  about 
it.  And,  in  the  peculiar  condition  of  her  mind,  she 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  let  a  spiritual  crisis, 
however  appalling,  interfere  with  the  natural,  ob- 
vious course  of  her  duties.  So  far  as  the  world 
was  concerned,  she  was  a  happy  married  woman, 
who  had  to  make  her  d£but  as  a  shopping  housewife, 
and  hence  she  was  determined  that  her  debut  should 
be  made.  .  .  .  And  yet,  possibly  she  might  not  have 
ventured  away  from  the  house  at  all,  had  she  not 
felt  that  if  she  did  not  escape  for  a  time  from  its 
unbreathable  atmosphere  into  the  liberty  of  the 
streets,  she  would  stifle  and  expire.  Wherever  she 
put  herself  in  the  house  she  could  not  feel  alone.  In 
the  streets  she  felt  alone,  even  when  saluting  new 

346 


THE    MARKET 

acquaintances  and  being  examined  and  probed  by 
their  critical  stare.  The  sight  of  these  acquaintances 
reminded  her  that  she  had  a  long  list  of  calls  to 
repay.  And  then  the  system  of  paying  calls  and 
repaying,  and  the  whole  system  of  society,  seemed 
monstrously  fanciful  and  unreal  to  her.  There  was 
only  one  reality.  The  solid  bricks  of  the  pavement 
suddenly  trembled  under  her  feet  as  though  she  were 
passing  over  a  suspension-bridge.  The  enterprise  of 
shopping  became  idiotic,  humorous,  incredibly  silly 
in  the  face  of  that  reality. 

Nevertheless,  the  social  system  of  Bursley,  as  ex- 
emplified in  Wedgwood  Street  and  the  Market-place, 
its  principal  shopping  thoroughfares,  was  extremely 
alluring,  bright,  and  invigorating  that  morning.  It 
almost  intoxicated,  and  had,  indeed,  a  similar  effect 
to  that  of  a  sparkling  drink.  Rachel  had  never 
shopped  at  large  with  her  own  money  before.  She 
had  executed  commissions  for  Mrs.  Maldon.  She 
had  been  an  unpaid  housekeeper  to  her  father  and 
brother.  Now  she  was  shopping  as  mistress  of  a 
house  and  of  money.  She  owed  an  account  of  her 
outlay  to  nobody,  not  even  to  Louis.  She  recalled 
the  humble  and  fantastic  Saturday  night  when  she 
had  shopped  with  Louis  as  reticule-carrier  .  .  .  cen- 
turies since.  The  swiftness  and  unforeseeableness 
of  events  frightened  the  girl  masquerading  as  a  wise, 
perfected  woman.  Her  heart  lay  like  a  weight  in 
her  corsage  for  an  instant;  and  the  next  instant  she 
was  in  the  bright  system  again,  because  she  was  so 
young. 

Here  and  there  in  the  streets,  and  in  small  groups 
in  the  chief  shops,  you  saw  prim  ladies  of  every  age, 
each  with  a  gloved  hand  clasped  over  a  purse.     (But 

347 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

sometimes  the  purse  lay  safe  under  the  coverlet  of 
a  perambulator.)  These  purses  made  all  the  ladies 
equal,  for  their  contents  were  absolutely  secret  from 
all  save  the  owners.  All  the  ladies  were  spending, 
and  the  delight  of  spending  was  theirs.  And  in 
theory  every  purse  was  inexhaustible.  At  any  rate 
it  was  impossible  to  conceive  a  purse  empty.  The 
system  wore  the  face  of  the  ideal.  Manners  were 
proper  to  the  utmost  degree;  they  neatly  marked  the 
equality  of  the  shoppers  and  the  profound  differ- 
ence between  the  shoppers  and  the  shopkeepers. 
All  ladies  were  agreeable,  all  babies  in  perambu- 
lators were  darlings.  The  homes  thus  represented 
by  ladies  and  babies  were  clearly  polite  homes  where 
reigned  suavity,  tranquillity,  affection,  and  plenty. 
Civilization  was  justified  in  Wedgwood  Street  and 
the  Market-place — and  also,  to  some  extent,  in  St. 
Luke's  Square.  .  .  .  And  Rachel  was  one  of  these 
ladies.  Her  gloved  hand  closed  over  a  purse  exactly 
in  the  style  of  the  others.  And  her  purse,  regard 
being  had  to  the  inheritance  of  her  husband,  was 
supposed  to  hide  vast  sums;  so  much  so  that  ladies 
who  had  descended  from  distant  heights  in  pony- 
carts  gazed  upon  her  with  the  respect  due  to  a  rival. 
All  welcomed  her  into  the  exclusive,  correct  little 
world — not  only  the  shopkeepers,  but  the  buyers 
therein.  She  represented  youthful  love.  Her  life 
must  be,  and  was,  an  idyl!  True,  she  had  no  per- 
ambulator, but  middle-aged  ladies  greeted  her  with 
wistfulness  in  their  voices  and  in  their  eyes. 

She  smiled  often,  as  she  told  and  retold  the  story 
of  Louis'  accident,  and  gave  positive  assurances  that 
he  was  in  no  danger  and  would  not  bear  a  scar. 
She  blushed  often.     She  was  shyly  happy  in  her  un- 

348 


THE    MARKET 

happiness.     The  experience  alternated  between  the 
unreal  and  the  real.     The  extraordinary  complexity 
of  life  was  beginning  to  put  its  spell  on  her.     She  % 
could  not  determine  the  relative  values  of  the  various 
facets  of  the  experience. 

When  she  had  done  the  important  parts  of  her 
business,  she  thought  she  would  go  in  the  Covered 
Market,  which,  having  one  entrance  in  the  Market- 
place and  another  in  Wedgwood  Street,  connects  the 
two  thoroughfares.  She  had  never  been  into  the 
Covered  Market  because  Mrs.  Maldon  had  a  preju- 
dice against  its  wares.  She  went  out  of  mere  curios- 
ity, just  to  enlarge  her  knowledge  of  her  adopted 
town.  The  huge  interior,  with  its  glazed  roof,  was 
full  of  clatter,  shouting,  and  the  smell  of  innumerable 
varieties  of  cheese.  She  passed  a  second-hand  book- 
stall without  seeing  it,  and  then  discerned  admirable 
potatoes  at  three  halfpence  a  peck  less  than  she  had 
been  paying — and  Mrs.  Maldon  was  once  more  set 
down  as  an  old ,  lady  with  peculiarities.  However, 
by  the  time  Rachel  had  made  a  critical  round  of 
the  entire  place,  with  its  birds  in  cages,  popular 
songs  at  a  penny,  sweetstuffs,  cheap  cottons  and 
woolens,  bright  tinware,  Colonial  i  fleshmeat,  sau- 
sage displays,  and  particularly  its  cheeses,  Mrs.  Mal- 
don was  already  recovering  her  reputation  as  a 
woman  whose  death  was  an  irreparable  loss  to  the 
town. 

As  Rachel  passed  the  negligible  second-hand  book- 
stall again,  it  was  made  visible  to  her  by  the  fact 
that  Councilor  Thomas  Batchgrew  was  just  emerg- 
ing from  the  shop  behind  it,  with  a  large  volume  in 
his  black-gloved  hands.  Thomas  Batchgrew  came 
out  of  the  dark  book-shop  as  a  famous  old  actor,  ac- 

349 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

customed  to  decades  of  crude  public  worships  comes 
out  of  a  fashionable  restaurant  into  a  fashionable 
thoroughfare.  His  satisfied  and  self-conscious  coun- 
tenance showed  that  he  knew  that  nearly  everybody 
in  sight  was  or  ought  to  be  acquainted  with  his 
identity  and  his  renown,  and  showed  also  that  his 
pretense  of  being  unaware  of  this  tremendous  and 
luscious  fact  was  playful  and  not  seriously  meant  to 
deceive  a  world  of  admirers.  He  was  wearing  a  light 
tweed  suit,  with  a  fancy  waistcoat  and  a  hard,  pale- 
gray  hat.  As  he  aged,  his  tendency  to  striking  pale 
attire  was  becoming  accentuated;  at  any  rate,  it 
had  the  advantage  of  harmonizing  with  his  unique 
whiskers — those  whiskers  which  differentiated  him 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  human  race  in  the  Five 
Towns. 

Rachel  blushed,  partly  because  he  was  suddenly 
so  close  to  her,  partly  because  she  disapproved  of  the 
cunning  expression  on  his  red,  seamed  face  and  was 
afraid  he  might  divine  her  thoughts,  and  partly  be- 
cause she  recalled  the  violent  things  she  had  said 
against  him  to  Louis.  But  as  soon  as  Thomas 
Batchgrew  caught  sight  of  her  the  expression  of  his 
face  changed  in  an  instant  to  one  of  benevolence 
and  artless  joy;  the  change  in  it  was  indeed  dra- 
matic. 

And  Rachel,  pleased  and  flattered,  said  to  herself, 
almost  startled: 

"He  really  admires  me.  And  I  do  believe  he  al- 
ways did." 

And  since  admiration  is  a  sweet  drug,  whether 
offered  by  a  rascal  or  by  the  pure  in  heart,  she  for- 
got momentarily  the  horror  of  her  domestic  di- 
lemma. 

35o 


T 


he  expression  of  his  face  changed  in  an  instant  to 
one  of  benevolence  and  artless  joy. 


THE    MARKET 

ii 

"Eh,  lass!"  Thomas  Batchgrew  was  saying, 
familiarly,  after  he  had  inquired  about  Louis,  "I'm 
rare  glad  for  thy  sake  it  was  no  worse."  His  frank 
implication  that  he  was  glad  only  for  her  sake  grati- 
fied and  did  not  wound  her  as  a  wife. 

The  next  moment  he  had  dismissed  the  case  of 
Louis  and  was  displaying  to  her  the  volume  which  he 
carried.  It  was  a  folio  Bible,  printed  by  the  Cornish- 
man  Tregortha  in  the  town  of  Bursley,  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  where  they  were  standing,  in  the 
earliest  years  of  the  nineteenth  century  —  a  biblio- 
graphical curiosity,  as  Thomas  Batchgrew  vaguely 
knew,  for  he  wet  his  gloved  thumb  and,  resting  the 
book  on  one  raised  knee,  roughly  turned  over  sev- 
eral pages  till  he  came  to  the  title-page  containing 
the  word  "Bursley,"  which  he  showed  with  pride 
to  Rachel.  Rachel,  however,  not  being  in  the  slight- 
est degree  a  bibliophile,  discerned  no  interest  what- 
ever in  the  title-page.  She  merely  murmured  with 
politeness,  "Oh,  yes!  Bursley,"  while  animadvert- 
ing privately  on  the  old  man's  odious  trick  of  wetting 
his  gloved  thumb  and  leaving  marks  on  the  pages. 

"The  good  old  Book!"  he  said.  "I've  been  after 
that  volume  for  six  months  and  more.  I  knew  I 
should  get  it,  but  he's  a  stiff  un — yon  is,"  jerking  his 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  second-hand  book- 
seller. Then  he  put  the  folio  under  his  arm,  de- 
lighted at  the  souvenir  of  having  worsted  somebody 
in  a  bargain,  and  repeated,  "The  good  old  Book." 

Rachel  reflected: 

"You  unspeakable  old  sinner!" 

Still,  she  liked  his  attitude  towards  herself.  In 
3Si 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

addition  to  the  book  he  insisted  on  carrying  a  small 
white  parcel  of  hers  which  she  had  not  put  into  the 
reticule.  They  climbed  the  steps  out  of  the  Covered 
Market  and  walked  along  the  Market-place  together. 
And  Rachel  unmistakably  did  find  pleasure  in  being 
seen  thus  with  the  great  and  powerful,  if  much  crit- 
icized, Thomas  Batchgrew,  him  to  whom  several 
times,  less  than  a  year  earlier,  she  had  scathingly 
referred  as  that  man.  His  escort  in  the  thorough- 
fare, and  especially  his  demeanor  towards  herself, 
gave  her  a  standing  which  she  could  otherwise  scarce- 
ly have  attained.  Moreover,  people  might  execrate 
him  in  private,  but  that  he  had  conquered  the  esteem 
of  their  secret  souls  was  well  proved  by  their  genuine 
eagerness  to  salute  him  as  he  walked  sniffing  along. 
He  counted  himself  one  of  the  seven  prides  of  the  dis- 
trict, and  perhaps  he  was  not  far  out. 

"Come  in  a  minute,  lass,"  he  said  in  a  low,  con- 
fidential voice,  as  they  reached  his  branch  shop,  just 
beyond  Malkin's.     "I'll — "     He  paused. 

A  motor,  apparently  enormous,  was  buzzing  mo- 
tionless in  the  wide  entry  by  the  side  of  the  shop. 
It  very  slowly  moved  forward,  crossed  the  footpath 
and  half  the  street  opposite  the  Town  Hall,  im- 
peding a  tram-car,  and  then  curved  backward  into 
a  position  by  the  kerbstone.  John's  Ernest  was  at 
the  steering-wheel.  Councilor  Batchgrew  stood  still 
with  his  mouth  open  to  watch  the  manoeuver. 

"This  is  John's  Ernest — my  son  John's  eldest. 
Happen  ye  know  him,"  said  Batchgrew  to  Rachel. 
"He's  a  good  lad." 

John's  Ernest,  a  pleasant-featured  young  man  of 
twenty-five,  blushed  and  raised  his  hat.  And 
Rachel  also  blushed  as  she  nodded.     It  was  astonish- 

352 


THE    MARKET 

ing  that  old  Batchgrew  could  have  a  grandson  with 

so  honest  a  look  on  his  face,  but  she  had  heard  that 

'  son  John,  too,  was  very  different  from  his  father. 

"Dunna  go  till  I've  seen  thee,"  said  Mr.  Batch- 
grew  to  John's  Ernest,  and  to  Rachel,  "Come  in, 
Mrs.  Fores.' ' 

John's  Ernest  silenced  the  car,  and  extricated  him- 
self with  practised  rapidity  from  the  driver's  seat. 

"Where  are  ye  going?"  asked  his  grandfather. 

"I'm  going  to  lock  the  garage  doors,"  said  John's 
Ernest,  with  a  humorous  smile  which  seemed  to  add, 
"Unless  you'd  like  them  to  be  left  open  all  Saturday 
afternoon."  Rachel  vividly  remembered  the  playful 
boyish  voice  which  she  had  heard  one  night  when  the 
motor-car  had  called  to  take  Mr.  Batchgrew  to 
Red  Cow. 

The  councilor  nodded. 

In  the  small,  untidy,  disagreeable,  malodorous 
shop,  which  in  about  half  a  century  had  scarcely 
altered  its  aspect,  Thomas  Batchgrew  directed 
Rachel  to  a  corner  behind  the  counter  and  behind 
a  partition,  with  a  view  of  a  fragment  of  the  window. 
As  she  passed  she  saw  one  of  the  Batchgrew  women 
(the  wife  of  another  grandson)  and  three  little  girls 
of  various  sizes  flash  in  succession  across  an  open 
doorway  at  the  back.  The  granddaughter-in-law, 
who  had  an  abode  full  of  costly  wedding-presents 
over  the  shop,  had  been  one  of  her  callers,  but 
when  they  flashed  across  that  doorway  the  Batch- 
grew  women  made  a  point  of  ignoring  all  phenomena 
in  the  shop. 

"Has  Louis  decided  about  them  debentures?" 
Thomas  Batchgrew  asked,  still  in  a  very  low  and 
confidential  tone,  as  the  two  stood  together  in  the 
23  353 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

corner.  He  had  put  the  Book  and  the  parcel  down 
on  a  very  ragged  blotting-pad  that  lay  on  a  chipped 
and  ink-stained  deal  desk,  and  began  to  finger  a 
yellow  penholder.    There  was  nobody  else  in  the  shop. 

Rachel  had  foreseen  his  question. 

She  answered,  calmly:  "Yes.  He's  quite  decided 
that  on  the  whole  it  11  be  better  if  he  doesn't  put  his 
money  into  debentures.' ' 

There  was  no  foundation  whatever  for  this  state- 
ment; yet,  in  uttering  the  lie,  she  was  clearly  con- 
scious of  a  feeling  of  lofty  righteousness.  She  faced 
Thomas  Batchgrew,  though  not  with  a  tranquillity 
perfectly  maintained,  and  she  still  enjoyed  his  appre- 
ciation of  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  care  whether 
he  guessed  that  she  was  lying  or  not. 

"I'm  sonar,  lass!"  he  said,  simply,  sniffing.  "The 
lad's  a  fool!^  It  isn't  as  if  I've  got  to  go  hawking 
seven  per  cent,  debentures  to  get  rid  of  'em — and 
in  a  concern  like  that,  too!  They'd  never  ha'  been 
seven  per  cent,  if  it  hadna  been  for  me.  But  it  was 
you  as  I  was  thinking  of  when  I  offered  'em  to  Louis. 
I  thought  I  should  be  doing  ye  a  good  turn." 

The  old  man  smiled  amid  his  loud  sniffs.  He  was 
too  old  to  have  retained  any  save  an  artistic  interest 
in  women.  But  an  artistic  interest  in  them  he  cer- 
tainly had;  and  at  an  earlier  period  he  had  acquainted 
himself  with  life,  as  his  eye  showed.  Rachel  blushed 
a  third  time  that  morning,  and  more  deeply  than 
before.  He  was  seriously  flattering  her  now.  En- 
dearing qualities  that  had  expired  in  him  long  ago 
seemed  to  be  resuscitated  and  to  animate  his  ruined 
features.  Rachel  dimly  understood  how  it  was  that 
some  woman  had  once  married  him  and  borne  him 
a  lot  of  children,  and  how  it  was  that  he  had  been 

354 


THE    MARKET 

so  intimate  and  valued  a  friend  of  the  revered  hus- 
band of  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Maldon.  She  was, 
in  the  Five  Towns'  phrase,  flustered.  She  almost 
believed  what  Thomas  Batchgrew  had  said.  She 
did  believe  it.  She  had  misjudged  him  on  the 
Thursday  night  when  he  spread  the  lure  of  the 
seven  per  cent,  in  front  of  Louis.  At  any  rate,  he 
assuredly  did  not  care,  personally,  whether  Louis 
accepted  the  debentures  or  not. 

"However,"  the  councilor  went  on,  "he's  got  to 
know  his  own  business  best.  And  I  don't  know  as 
it's  any  affair  o'  mine.  But  I  was  just  thinking  of 
you.  When  the  husband  has  a  good  investment, 
th'  wife  generally  comes  in  for  something.  .  .  .  And 
what's  more,  it  'u'd  ha'  stopped  him  from  doing 
anything  silly  with  his  brass!     You  know." 

"Yes,"Jshe  murmured. 

"I'm  talking  to  ye  because  I've  taken  a  fancy  to 
ye,"  said  the  councilor.  "I  knew  what  you  were 
the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  ye.  Oh,  I  don't  mind 
telling  ye  now — what  harm  is  there  in  it?  I'd  a  sort 
of  a  fancy  as  one  day  you  and  John's  Ernest  might 
ha'  hit  it  off.     I  had  it  in  my  mind  like." 

A  crude  compliment,  possibly  in  bad  taste,  possibly 
offensive;  but  Rachel  was  singularly  moved  by  the 
revelation  thus  made.  Before  she  could  find  a  reply 
John's  Ernest  came  into  the  shop,  followed  by  an 
aproned  assistant. 

in 

Then  she  was  sitting  by  John's  Ernest's  side  in  the 
big  motor-car,  with  her  possessions  at  her  feet.  The 
enthronement  had  happened  in  a  few  moments, 
John's  JSraest  was  going  to  Hanbridge. 

355 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"Ye  can  run  Mrs.  Fores  up  home  on  yer  way," 
Thomas  Batchgrew  had  suggested. 

"But  Bycars  Lane  is  miles  out  of  your  way!" 
Rachel  had  cried. 

Both  men  had  smiled.  "Won't  make  a  couple  of 
minutes'  difference  in  the  car,"  John's  Ernest  had 
modestly  murmured. 

She  had  been  afraid  to  get  into  the  automobile — 
afraid  with  a  sort  of  stage-fright;  afraid,  as  she  might 
have  been  had  she  been  called  upon  to  sing  at  a 
concert  in  the  Town  Hall.  She  had  imagined  that 
all  Bursley  was  gazing  at  her  as  she  climbed  into  the 
car.  Over  the  face  of  England  automobiles  are  far 
more  common  than  cuckoos,  and  yet  for  the  majority, 
even  of  the  proud  and  solvent  middle  class,  they 
still  remain  as  unattainable,  as  glitteringly  won- 
drous, as  a  title.  Rachel  had  never  been  in  an 
automobile  before ;  she  had  never  hoped  to  be  in  an 
automobile.  A  few  days  earlier — and  she  had  been 
regarding  a  bicycle  as  rather  romantic!  Louis  had 
once  mentioned  a  motor-cycle  with  side-carriage  for 
herself,  but  she  had  rebuffed  the  idea  with  a  shudder. 

The  whole  town  slid  away  behind  her.  The  car 
was  out  of  the  Market-place  and  crossing  the  top 
of  Duck  Bank,  the  scene  of  Louis'  accident,  before 
she  had  settled  her  skirts.  She  understood  why  the 
men  had  smiled  at  her;  it  was  no  more  trouble  for 
the  car  to  go  to  Bycars  than  it  would  be  for  her  to 
run  up-stairs.  The  swift  movement  of  the  car,  silent 
and  arrogant,  and  the  occasional  deep  bass  mysteri- 
ous menace  of  its  horn,  and  the  grace  of  John's 
Ernest's  gestures  on  the  wheel  as  he  curved  the  huge 
vehicle  like  a  phantom  round  lumbering  obstacles — 
these  things  fascinated  and  exalted  her. 

356 


THE    MARKET 

In  spite  of  the  horrible  secret  she  carried  all  the 
time  in  her  heart  she  was  somehow  filled  with  an 
instinctive  joy.  And  she  began  to  perceive  changes 
in  her  own  perspective.  The  fine  Louis,  whom  she 
had  regarded  as  the  summit  of  mankind,  could  never 
offer  her  an  automobile;  he  existed  entirely  in  a 
humbler  world;  he  was,  after  all,  a  young  man  in  a 
very  small  way  of  affairs.  Batchgrew's  automobile 
would  swallow  up,  week  by  week,  more  than  the 
whole  of  Louis'  income.  And  further,  John's  Ernest 
by  her  side  was  invested  with  the  mighty  charm  of 
one  who  easily  and  skilfully  governs  a  vast  and 
dangerous  organism.  All  the  glory  of  the  inventors 
and  perfecters  of  automobiles,  and  of  manufacturing 
engineers,  and  of  capitalists  who  could  pay  for  their 
luxurious  caprices,  was  centered  in  John's  Ernest, 
merely  because  he  directed  and  subjugated  the 
energy  of  the  miraculous  machine. 

And  John's  Ernest  was  so  exquisitely  modest  and 
diffident,  and  yet  had  an  almost  permanent  humorous 
smile.  But  the  paramount  expression  on  his  face 
was  honesty.  She  had  never  hitherto  missed  the 
expression  of  honesty  on  Louis'  face,  but  she  realized 
now  that  it  was  not  there.  .  .  .  And  she  had  been 
adjudged  worthy  of  John's  Ernest!  The  powerful 
of  the  world  had  had  their  eyes  on  her!  Not  Louis 
alone  had  noted  her!  Had  fate  chosen,  and  had  she 
herself  chosen,  that  very  motor-car  might  have  been 
hers,  and  she  at  that  instant  riding  in  it  as  the 
mistress  thereof!  Strange  thoughts,  which  intensely 
flattered  and  fostered  her  self-esteem.  But  she  still 
had  the  horrible  secret  to  carry  with  her. 

When  the  car  stopped  in  front  of  her  gate,  she 
forced  open  the  door  and  jumped  down  with  al- 

357 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

most  hysterical  speed,  said  "Good-by"  and  ''Thank 
you"  to  John's  Ernest,  who  becomingly  blushed, 
and  ran  round  the  back  of  the  car  with  her  purchases. 
The  car  went  on  up  the  lane,  the  intention  of  John's 
Ernest  being  evident  to  proceed  along  Park  Road 
and  the  Moorthorne  ridge  to  Hanbridge  rather  than 
turn  the  car  in  the  somewhat  narrow  lane.  Rachel, 
instead  of  entering  the  house,  thrust  her  parcels 
frantically  on  to  the  top  step  against  the  front  door, 
and  rushed  down  the  steps  again  and  down  the  lane. 
In  a  minute  she  was  overtaking  a  man. 

"Louis!"  she  cried. 

From  the  car  she  had  seen  the  incredible  vision 
of  Louis  walking  down  the  lane  from  the  house.  He 
and  John's  Ernest  had  not  noticed  each  other,  nor 
had  Louis  noticed  that  his  wife  was  in  the  car. 

Louis  stopped  now  and  looked  back,  hesitant. 

There  he  was,  with  his  plastered,  pale  face  all 
streaked  with  grayish- white  lines!  Really  Rachel 
had  difficulty  in  believing  her  eyes.  She  had  left  him 
in  bed,  weak,  broken;  and  he  was  there  in  the  road 
fully  dressed  for  the  town  and  making  for  the  town 
— a  dreadful  sight,  but  indubitably  moving  unaided 
on  his  own  legs.  It  was  simply  monstrous!  Fury 
leaped  up  in  her.  She  had  never  heard  of  anything 
more  monstrous.  The  thing  was  an  absolute  out- 
rage on  her  nursing  of  him. 

"Are  you  stark,  staring  mad?"  she  demanded. 

He  stood  weakly  regarding  her.  It  was  clear  that 
he  was  already  very  enfeebled  by  his  fantastic 
exertions. 

"I  wonder  how  much  further  you  would  have  gone 
without  falling!"  she  said.  "I'll  thank  you  to  come 
back  this  very  instant!  .  .  .  This  very  instant!" 

358 


THE    MARKET 

He  had  no  strength  to  withstand  her  impetuous 
anger.  His  lower  lip  fell.  He  obeyed  with  some 
inarticulate  words. 

"And  I  should  like  to  know  what  Mrs.  Tarn's  was 
doing !"  said  Rachel. 

She  neither  guessed  nor  cared  what  was  the  in- 
tention of  Louis'  shocking,  impossible  escapade. 
She  grasped  his  arm  firmly.  In  ten  minutes  he  was 
in  bed  again,  under  control,  and  Rachel  was  venting 
herself  on  Mrs.  Tarns,  who  took  oath  that  she  had 
been  utterly  unaware  of  the  master's  departure  from 
the  house. 


XV 

THE    CHANGED   MAN 


EXACTLY  a  week  passed,  and  Easter  had  come, 
before  Rachel  could  set  out  upon  an*  enterprise 
which  she  both  longed  and  hated  to  perform.  In 
the  mean  time  the  situation  in  the  house  remained 
stationary,  except  that  after  a  relapse  Louis'  condi- 
tion had  gradually  improved.  She  nursed  him;  he 
permitted  himself  to  be  nursed;  she  slept  near  him 
every  night;  no  scene  of  irritation  passed  between 
them.  But  nothing  was  explained;  even  the  fact 
that  Rachel  on  the  Saturday  morning  had  overtaken 
Louis  instead  of  meeting  him — a  detail  which  in  se- 
cret considerably  puzzled  Louis,  since  it  implied  that 
his  wife  had  been  in  the  house  when  he  left  it — even 
this  was  not  explained;  as  for  the  motor-car,  Louis, 
absorbed,  had  scarcely  noticed  it,  and  Rachel  did 
not  mention  it.  She  went  on  from  one  day  into  the 
next,  proud,  self-satisfied,  sure  of  her  strength  and 
her  position,  indifferently  scornful  of  Louis,  and  yet 
fatally  stricken;  she  knew  not  in  the  least  what  was 
to  be  done,  and  so  she  waited  for  destiny.  .  Louis 
had  to  stop  in  bed  for  five  days.  His  relapse  worried 
Dr.  Yardley,  who,  however,  like  many  doctors,  was 
kept  in  complete  ignorance  of  the  truth;  Rachel  was 

360 


THE    CHANGED    MAN 

ashamed  to  confess  that  her  husband  had  mon- 
strously taken  advantage  of  her  absence  to  rise  up 
and  dress  and  go  out;  and  Louis  had  said  no  word. 
On  the  Friday  he  was  permitted  to  sit  in  a  chair  in 
the  bedroom,  and  on  Saturday  he  had  the  freedom  of 
the  house.  It  surprised  Rachel  that  on  the  Saturday 
he  had  not  dashed  for  the  street,  for  after  the  ex- 
ploit of  the  previous  Saturday  she  was  ready  to  ex- 
pect anything.  Had  he  done  so  she  would  not 
have  interfered;  he  was  really  convalescent,  and  also 
the  number  of  white  stripes  over  his  face  and  hair 
had  diminished.  In  the  afternoon  he  reclined  on 
the  Chesterfield  to  read,  and  fell  asleep.  Then  it 
was  that  Rachel  set  out  upon  her  enterprise.  She 
said  not  a  word  to  Louis,  but  instructed  Mrs.  Tarns 
to  inform  the  master,  if  he  inquired,  that  she  had 
gone  over  to  Knype  to  see  Mr.  Maldon. 

"Are  you  a  friend  of  Mester  Maldon's?"  asked 
the  gray-haired  slattern  who  answered  her  summons 
at  the  door  of  Julian's  lodgings  in  Granville  Street, 
Knype.  There  was  a  challenge  in  the  woman's 
voice.     Rachel  accepted  it  at  once. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  she  said,  with  decision. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  want  any  o'  Mester 
Maldon's  friends  here,"  said  the  landlady,  loudly. 
1  '  Mester  Maldon's  done  a  flit  from  here,  Mester  Mal- 
don has;  and,"  coming  out  on  to  the  pavement  and 
pointing  upward  to  a  broken  pane  in  the  first-floor 
window,  "that's  a  bit  o'  his  fancy  work  afore  he 
flitted!" 

Rachel  put  her  lips  together. 

"Can  you  give  me  his  new  address?" 

"Can  I  give  yer  his  new  address?  PVaps  I  can 
and  p'r'aps  I  canna,  but  I  dunna  see  why  I  should 

361 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

waste  my  breath  on  Mester  Maldon's  friends — that 
I  dunna!    And  I  wunna!" 

Rachel  walked  away.  Before  she  reached  the  end 
of  the  frowsy  street,  whose  meanness  and  monotony 
of  tiny  bow- windows  exemplified  intensely  the  most 
deplorable  characteristics  of  a  district  where  brutish 
license  is  decreasing,  she  was  overtaken  by  a  lanky 
girl  in  a  pinafore. 

"If  ye  please,  miss,  Mester  Maldon's  gone  to  live 
at  29  Birches  Street,  'anbridge." 

Having  made  this  announcement,  the  girl  ran  off, 
with  a  short  giggle. 

Rachel  had  to  walk  half  a  mile  to  reach  the  tram- 
route.  This  revisiting  of  her  native  town,  which 
she  had  quitted  only  a  few  weeks  earlier,  seemed  to 
her  like  the  sad  resumption  of  an  existence  long  for- 
gotten. She  was  self-conscious  and  hoped  that  she 
would  not  encounter  the  curiosity  of  any  of  her 
Knype  acquaintances.  She  felt  easier  when  she 
was  within  the  sheltering  car  and  rumbling  and 
jerking  through  the  gloomy  carnival  of  Easter  Satur- 
day afternoon  in  Knype  and  Cauldon  on  the  way  to 
Hanbridge. 

After  leaving  the  car  in  Crown  Square,  she  had  to 
climb  through  all  the  western  quarter  of  Hanbridge 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  town,  on  the  hummock  that 
separates  it  from  the  Axe  Moorlands.  Birches 
Street,  as  she  had  guessed,  was  in  the  suburb  known 
as  Birches  Pike.  It  ran  right  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  the  upper  portion  consisted  of  new  cottage-houses 
in  groups  of  two  or  three,  with  vacant  lots  between. 
Why  should  Julian  have  chosen  Birches  Street  for 
residence,  seeing  that  his  business  was  in  Knype? 
It  was  a  repellent  street;  it  was  out  even  of  the  lit- 

362 


THE    CHANGED    MAN 

tie  world,  where  sordidness  is  at  any  rate  dignified 
by  tradition  and  anemic  ideals  can  support  each 
other  in  close  companionship.  It  had  neither  a  past 
nor  a  future.  The  steep  end  of  it  was  a  horizon  of 
cloud.  The  April  east  wind  blew  the  smoke  of 
Hanbridge  right  across  it. 

In  this  east  wind  men  in  shirt-sleeves,  and  women 
with  aprons  over  their  heads,  stood  nonchalantly 
at  cottage  gates  contemplating  the  vacuum  of  leis- 
ure. On  two  different  parcels  of  land  teams  of 
shrieking  boys  were  playing  football,  with  piles  of 
caps  and  jackets  to  serve  as  goal-posts.  To  the  left, 
in  a  clough,  was  an  enormous  yellow  marlpit,  with 
pools  of  water  in  its  depths,  and  gangways  of  planks 
along  them,  and  a  few  overturned  wheelbarrows 
lying  here  and  there.  A  group  of  men  drove  at  full 
speed  up  the  street  in  a  dog-cart  behind  a  sweating 
cob,  stopped  violently  at  the  summit,  and,  taking 
watches  from  pockets,  began  to  let  pigeons  out  of 
baskets.  The  pigeons  rose  in  wide  circles  and  were 
lost  in  the  vast  dome  of  melancholy  that  hung  over 
the  district. 

ii 

No.  29  was  the  second  house  from  the  top,  new, 
and  already  in  decay.  It  and  its  attached  twin  were 
named  H Prospect  Villas' '  in  vermilion  tiles  on  the 
yellowish-red  bricks  of  the  fagade.  Hot,  and  yet 
chilled  by  the  wind,  Rachel  hesitated  a  moment  at 
the  gate,  suddenly  realizing  the  perils  of  her  mission. 
And  then  she  saw  Julian  Maldon  standing  in  the  bay- 
window  of  the  ground  floor;  he  was  eating.  Simul- 
taneously he  recognized  her. 

She  thought,  "I  can't  go  back  now." 
363 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

He  came  sheepishly  to  the  front  door  and  asked 
her  to  walk  in. 

" Who'd  have  thought  of  seeing  you?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "You  must  take  me  as  I  am.  I've  only 
just  moved  in." 

"I've  been  to  your  old  address,"  she  said,  smiling, 
with  an  attempt  at  animation. 

"A  rare  row  I  had  there!"  he  murmured. 

She  understood,  with  a  pang  of  compassion  and 
yet  with  feminine  disdain,  the  horrible  thing  that 
his  daily  existence  was.  No  wonder  he  would  never 
allow  Mrs.  Maldon  to  go  and  see  him!  The  spec- 
tacle of  his  secret  squalor  would  have  desolated  the 
old  lady. 

"Don't  take  any  notice  of  all  this,"  he  said, 
apologetically,  as  he  preceded  her  into  the  room 
where  she  had  seen  him  standing.  "Fin  not  straight 
yet.  .  .  .  Not  that  it  matters.  By  the  way,  take 
a  seat,  will  you?" 

Rachel  courageously  sat  down. 

Just  as  there  were  no  curtains  to  the  windows,  so 
there  was  no  carpet  on  the  planked  floor.  A  few 
pieces  of  new,  cheap,  ignoble  furniture  half  filled  the 
room.  In  one  corner  was  a  sofa-bedstead  covered 
with  an  army  blanket;  in  the  middle  a  crimson- 
legged  deal  table,  partly  covered  with  a  dirty  cloth, 
and  on  the  cloth  were  several  apples,  an  orange,  and 
a  hunk  of  brown  bread — his  meal.  Although  he 
had  only  just  "moved  in,"  dust  had  had  time  to 
settle  thickly  on  all  the  furniture.  No  pictures  of 
any  kind  hid  the  huge  sunflowers  that  made  the 
pattern  of  the  wall-paper.  In  the  hearth,  which 
lacked  a  fender,  a  small  fire  was  expiring. 

"Ye  see,"  said  Julian,  "I  only  eat  when  I'm 
364 


THE    CHANGED    MAN 

hungry.  It's  a  good  plan.  So  I'm  eating  now. 
I've  turned  vegetarian.  There's  naught  like  it. 
I've  chucked  all  that  guzzling  and  swilling  business. 
It's  no  good.  I  never  touch  a  drop  of  liquor,  nor 
a  morsel  of  fleshmeat.  Nor  smoke,  either.  When 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  smoking's  a  disgusting  habit. ' ' 

Rachel  said,  pleasantly,  "But  you  were  smoking 
last  week,  surely?'1 

"Ah!  But  it's  since  then.  I  don't  mind  telling 
you.  In  fact,  I  meant  to  tell  you,  anyhow.  I've 
turned  over  a  new  leaf.  And  it  wasn't  too  soon. 
I've  joined  the  Knype  Ethical  Society.  So  there 
you  are!"  His  voice  grew  defiant  and  fierce,  as  in 
the  past,  and  he  proceeded  with  his  meal. 

Rachel  knew  nothing  of  the  Knype  Ethical  So- 
ciety, except  that  in  spite  of  its  name  it  was  regarded 
with  unfriendly  suspicion  by  the  respectable  as  an 
illicit  rival  of  churches  and  chapels  and  a  haunt  of 
dubious  characters  who,  under  high-sounding  mot- 
toes, were  engaged  in  the  wicked  scheme  of  setting 
class  against  class.  She  had  accepted  the  general 
verdict  on  the  Knype  Ethical  Society.  And  now 
she  was  confirmed  in  it.  As  she  gazed  at  Julian 
Maldon  in  that  dreadful  interior,  chewing  apples  and 
brown  bread  and  sucking  oranges,  only  when  he  felt 
hungry,  she  loathed  the  Knype  Ethical  Society.  It 
was  nothing  to  her  that  the  Knype  Ethical  Society 
was  responsible  for  a  religious  and  majestic  act  in 
Julian  Maldon — the  act  of  turning  over  a  new  leaf. 

"And  why  did  you  come  up  here?" 

"Oh,  various  reasons!"  said  Julian,  with  a  certain 
fictitious  nonchalance,  beneath  which  was  all  his  old 
ferocious  domination.  ' '  You  see,  I  didn't  get  enough 
exercise  before.     Lived  too  close  to  the  works.     In 

365 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

fact,  a  silly  existence.  I  saw  it  all  plain  enough  as 
soon  as  I  got  back  from  South  Africa.  .  .  .  Exercise ! 
What  you  want  is  for  your  skin  to  act  at  least  once 
every  day.  Don't  you  think  so?"  He  seemed  to 
be  appealing  to  her  for  moral  support  in  some 
revolutionary  theory. 

"Well— I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

Julian  continued: 

"If  you  ask  me,  I  believe  there  are  some  people 
who  never  perspire  from  one  year's  end  to  another. 
Never!  How  can  they  expect  to  be  well?  How  can 
they  expect  even  to  be  clean?  The  pores,  you  know. 
I've  been  reading  a  lot  about  it.  Well,  I  walk  up 
here  from  Knype  full  speed  every  day.  Everybody 
ought  to  do  it.     Then  I  have  a  bath." 

"  Oh !     Is  there  a  bathroom  ?" 

"No,  there  isn't,"  he  answered,  curtly.  Then  in 
a  tone  of  apology:  "But  I  manage.  You  see,  I'm 
going  to  save.  I  was  spending  too  much  down 
there — furnished  rooms.  Here  I  took  two  rooms — 
this  one  and  a  kitchen — unfurnished;  very  much 
cheaper,  of  course.  I've  just  fixed  them  up  tem- 
porarily. Little  by  little  they'll  be  improved.  The 
woman  up-stairs  comes  in  for  half  an  hour  in  the 
morning  and  just  cleans  up  when  I'm  gone." 

"And  does  your  cooking?" 

"Not  much!"  said  Julian,  bravely.  "I  do  that 
myself.  In  the  first  place,  I  want  very  little  cooking. 
Cooking's  not  natural.  And  what  bit  I  do  want — 
well,  I  have  my  own  ideas  about  it.  I've  got  a  little 
pamphlet  about  rational  eating  and  cooking.  You 
might  read  it.     Everybody  ought  to  read  it." 

"I  suppose  all  that  sort  of  thing's  very  interesting," 
Rachel  remarked  at  large,  with  politeness. 

366 


THE    CHANGED    MAN 

"It  is,"  Julian  said,  emphatically. 

Neither  of  them  felt  the  necessity  of  defining  what 
was  meant  by  "all  that  sort  of  thing."  The  phrase 
had  been  used  with  intention  and  was  perfectly 
understood. 

"But  if  you  want  to  know  what  I  really  came  up 
here  for,"  Julian  resumed,  "111  show  you." 

"Where?" 

"Outside."    And  he  repeated,  "I'll  show  you." 

in 

She  followed  him  as,  bareheaded,  he  hurried  out 
of  the  room  into  the  street. 

"Sha'n't  you  take  cold  without  anything  on  your 
head  in  this  wind?"  she  suggested,  mildly. 

He  would  have  snapped  off  the  entire  head  of  any 
other  person  who  had  ventured  to  make  the  sug- 
gestion. But  he  treated  Rachel  more  gently  because 
he  happened  to  think  that  she  was  the  only  truly 
sensible  and  kind  woman  he  had  ever  met  in  his  life. 

"No  fear!"  he  muttered. 

At  the  front  gate  he  stopped  and  looked  back  at 
his  bay-window. 

"Now — curtains!"  he  said.  "I  won't  have  cur- 
tains. Blinds,  at  night,  yes,  if  you  like.  But  cur- 
tains! I  never  could  see  any  use  in  curtains.  Fal- 
lals !    Keep  the  light  out !     Dust-traps !" 

Rachel  gazed  at  him.  Despite  his  beard,  he  ap- 
peared to  her  as  a  big  school-boy,  blundering  about 
in  the  world,  a  sort  of  leviathan  puppy  in  earnest. 
She  liked  him,  on  account  of  an  occasional  wistful 
expression  in  his  eyes,  and  because  she  had  been  kind 
to  him  during  his  fearful  visit  to  Bycars.     She  even 

367 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

admired  him,  for  his  cruel  honesty  and  force.  At 
the  same  time  he  excited  her  compassion  to  an  acute 
degree.  As  she  gazed  at  him  the  tears  were  ready- 
to  start  from  her  eyes.  What  she  had  seen,  and 
what  she  had  heard,  of  the  new  existence  which  he 
was  organizing  for  himself,  made  her  feel  sick  with 
pity.  But  mingled  with  her  pity  was  a  sharp 
disdain.  The  idea  of  Julian  talking  about  cleanli- 
ness, dust-traps,  and  rationality  gave  her  a  desire  to 
laugh  and  cry  at  once.  All  the  stolid  and  yet  wary 
conservatism  of  her  character  revolted  against  meals 
at  odd  hours,  brown  bread,  apples,  orange-sucking, 
action  of  the  skin,  male  cooking,  camp-beds,  the 
frowsiness  of  casual  charwomen,  bare  heads,  and 
especially  bare  windows.  If  Rachel  had  been  abso- 
lutely free  to  civilize  Julian's  life,  she  would  have 
begun  by  measuring  the  bay-window. 

She  said,  firmly: 

1 '  I  must  say  I  don't  agree  with  you  about  curtains. ' ' 

His  gestures  of  impatience  were  almost  violent; 
but  she  would  not  flinch. 

"Don't  ye?" 

"No." 

"Straight?" 

She  nodded. 

He  drew  breath.  "Well,  111  get  some— if  it  11 
satisfy  you." 

His  surrender  was  intensely  dramatic  to  her.  It 
filled  her  with  happiness,  with  a  consciousness  of 
immense  power.  She  thought :  "  I  can  influence  him. 
I  alone  can  influence  him.  Unless  I  look  after  him 
his  existence  will  be  dreadful — dreadful." 

"You'd  much  better  let  me  buy  them  for  you." 
She  smiled  persuasively. 

368 


THE    CHANGED    MAN 

1 'Have  it  your  own  way!"  he  said,  gloomily. 
"Just  come  along  up  here." 

He  led  her  up  to  the  top  of  the  street. 

"Yell  see  what  I  live  up  here  for,"  he  muttered  as 
they  approached  the  summit. 

The  other  half  of  the  world  lay  suddenly  at  their 
feet  as  they  capped  the  brow,  but  it  was  obscured  by 
mist  and  cloud.  The  ragged  downward  road  was 
lost  in  the  middle  distance  amid  vaporous  gray- 
greens  and  earthy  browns. 

"No  go!"  he  exclaimed,  crossly.  "Not  clear 
enough!  But  on  a  fine  day  ye  can  see  Axe  and  Axe 
Edge.  .  .  .  Finest  view  in  the  Five  Towns." 

The  shrill  cries  of  the  footballers  reached  them. 

"What  a  pity!"  she  sympathized,  eagerly.  "I'm 
sure  it  must  be  splendid."  His  situation  seemed 
extraordinarily  tragic  to  her.  His  short  hair,  ruffled 
by  the  keen  wind,  was  just  like  a  boy's  hair,  and 
somehow  the  sight  of  it  touched  her  deeply. 

He  put  his  hands  far  into  his  pockets  and 
drummed  one  foot  on  the  ground. 

"What  brought  ye  up  here?"  he  demanded,  with 
his  eyes  on  an  invisible  town  of  Axe. 

She  opened  her  hand-bag. 

"I  came  to  bring  you  this,"  she  said,  and  offered 
him  an  envelope,  which  he  took,  wonderingly. 

Then,  when  he  had  it  in  his  hands,  he  said,  abrupt- 
ly, angrily,  "If  it's  that  money,  I  won't  take  it." 

"Yes,  you  will." 

"Has  Louis  sent  ye?"  This  was  the  first  mention 
of  Louis,  though  he  was  well  aware  of  the  accident. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  let  him  keep  his  half,  and  you  can  keep 
mine." 

24  369 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"It's  all  there." 

"How— all  there?" 

"All  that  you  left  the  other  night." 

"But — but — "  He  seemed  to  be  furious  as  he 
faced  her. 

Rachel  went  on: 

"The  other  part  of  the  missing  money's  been 
found.  .  .  .  Louis  had  it.  So  all  this  belongs  to  you. 
If  some  one  hadn't  told  you  it  wouldn't  have  been 
fair." 

She  flushed  slowly,  trembling,  but  looking  at  him. 

"Well,"  Julian  burst  out  with  savage  solemnity, 
"there's  not  many  of  your  sort  knocking  about.  By 
G there  isn't!" 

She  walked  quickly  away  from  his  passionate 
homage  to  her. 

"Here!"  he  shouted,  fingering  the  envelope. 

But  she  kept  on  at  a  swift  pace  towards  Hanbridge. 
About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  road  the  pigeon- 
flyer's  dog-cart  stood  empty  outside  a  public  house. 


XVI 

THE    LETTER 

I 

RACHEL  stood  at  her  own  front  door  and  took 
>  off  her  glove  in  order  more  easily  to  manipu- 
late the  latch-key,  which  somehow,  since  coming  into 
frequent  use  again,  had  never  been  the  same  man- 
ageable latch-key,  but  a  cantankerous  old  thing, 
though  still  very  bright.  She  opened  the  door 
quietly,  and  stepped  inside  quietly,  lest  by  chance 
she  might  disturb  Louis,  the  invalid — but  also  be- 
cause she  was  a  little  afraid. 

The  most  contradictory  feelings  can  exist  to- 
gether in  the  mind.  After  the  desolate  discomfort 
of  Julian  Maldon's  lodging  and  the  spectacle  of  his 
clumsiness  in  the  important  affair  of  mere  living, 
Rachel  was  conscious  of  a  deep  and  proud  happiness 
as  she  re-entered  the  efficient,  cozy,  and  gracious 
organism  of  her  own  home.  But  simultaneously 
with  this  feeling  of  happiness  she  had  a  dreadful 
general  apprehension  that  the  organism  might  soon 
be  destroyed,  and  a  particular  apprehension  con- 
cerning her  next  interview  with  Louis,  for  at  the 
next  interview  she  would  be  under  the  necessity 
of  telling  him  about  her  transaction  with  Julian. 
She   had   been   absolutely   determined   upon   that 

37i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

transaction.  She  had  said  to  herself,  "Whatever 
happens,  I  shall  take  that  money  to  Julian  and  in- 
sist on  his  keeping  all  of  it."  She  had,  in  fact,  been 
very  brave,  indeed  audacious.  Now  the  conse- 
quences were  imminent,  and  they  frightened  her; 
she  was  less  brave  now.  One  awkward  detail  of  the 
immediate  future  was  that  to  tell  Louis  would  be 
to  reopen  the  entire  question  of  the  theft,  which  she 
had  several  times  in  the  most  abrupt  and  arrogant 
manner  refused  to  discuss  with  him. 

As  soon  as  she  had  closed  the  front  door  she  per- 
ceived that  twilight  was  already  obscuring  the  in- 
terior of  the  house.  But  she  could  plainly  see  that 
the  parlor  door  was  about  two  inches  ajar,  exactly 
as  she  had  left  it  a  couple  of  hours  earlier.  Prob- 
ably Louis  had  not  stirred.  She  listened  vainly  for 
a  sign  of  life  from  him.  Probably  he  was  reading, 
for  on  rare  occasions  when  he  read  a  novel  he  would 
stick  to  the  book  with  surprising  pertinacity.  At 
any  rate  he  would  be  too  lofty  to  give  any  sign 
that  he  had  heard  her  return.  Under  less  sinister 
circumstances  he  might  have  yelled,  gaily:  "I  say, 
Rache,"  for  in  a  teasing  mood  he  would  sometimes 
prefer  "Rache"  to  " Louise." 

Rachel  from  the  lobby  could  see  the  fire  bright  in 
the  kitchen,  and  a  tray  full  of  things  on  the  kitchen 
table  ready  to  be  brought  into  the  parlor  for  high  tea. 

Mrs.  Tarns  was  out.  It  was  not  among  Mrs. 
Tams's  regular  privileges  to  be  out  in  the  afternoon. 
But  this  was  Easter  Saturday — rather  a  special  day 
— and,  further,  one  of  her  daughters  had  gone  away 
for  Easter  and  left  a  child  with  one  of  her  daughters- 
in-law,  and  Mrs.  Tarns  had  desired  to  witness  some 
of  the   dealings   of  her  daughter-in-law  with  her 

372 


THE    LETTER 

grandchild.  Not  without  just  pride  had  Mrs.  Tarns 
related  the  present  circumstances  to  Rachel.  In 
Mrs.  Tams's  young  maturity  parents  who  managed  a 
day  excursion  to  Blackpool  in  the  year  did  well,  and 
those  who  went  away  for  four  or  five  days  at  Knype 
Wakes  in  August  were  princes  and  plutocrats.  But 
nowadays  even  a  daughter  of  Mrs.  Tarns,  not  satis- 
fied with  a  week  at  Knype  Wakes,  could  take  a  week- 
end at  Easter  just  like  great  folk  such  as  Louis. 
Which  proved  that  the  community  at  large,  or  Mrs. 
Tams's  family,  had  famously  got  up  in  the  world. 
Rachel  recalled  Louis'  suggestion,  more  than  a  week 
earlier,  of  a  trip  to  Llandudno.  The  very  planet 
itself  had  aged  since  then. 

She  looked  at  the  clock.  In  twenty  minutes  Mrs. 
Tarns  would  be  back.  She  and  Louis  were  alone 
together  in  the  house.  She  might  go  straight  into 
the  parlor,  and  say  in  as  indifferent  and  ordinary  a 
voice  as  she  could  assume:  "I've  just  been  over  to 
Julian  Maldon's  to  give  him  that  money — all  of  it, 
you  know/'  And  thus  get  the  affair  finished  before 
Mrs.  Tams's  reappearance.  Louis  was  within  a  few 
feet  of  her,  hidden  only  by  the  door  which  a  push 
would  cause  to  swing!  .  .  .  Yes,  but  she  could  not 
persuade  herself  to  push  the  door !  The  door  seemed 
to  be  protected  from  her  hand  by  a  mysterious  spell 
which  she  dared  not  break.  She  was  indeed  over- 
whelmed by  the  simple  but  tremendous  fact  that 
Louis  and  herself  were  alone  together  in  the  darken- 
ing house.  She  decided,  pretending  to  be  quite 
calm:  "I'll  just  run  up-stairs  and  take  my  things 
off  first.  There's  no  use  in  my  seeming  to  be  in  a 
hurry." 

In  the  bedroom  she  arranged  her  toilette  for  the 
373 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

evening,  and  established  order  in  every  corner  of  the 
chamber.  Under  the  wash-stand  lay  the  long  row  of 
Louis'  boots  and  shoes,  each  pair  in  stretchers.  She 
suddenly  contrasted  Julian's  heavy  and  arrogant 
dowdiness  with  the  nice  dandyism  of  Louis.  She 
could  not  help  thinking  that  Julian  would  be  a 
terrible  person  to  live  with.  This  was  the  first 
thought  favorable  to  Louis  which  had  flitted  through 
her  mind  for  a  long  time.  She  dismissed  it.  Noth- 
ing in  another  man  could  be  as  terrible  to  live  with 
as  the  defects  of  Louis.  She  set  herself — she  was 
obliged  to  set  herself — high  above  Louis.  The 
souvenir  of  the  admiration  of  old  Batchgrew  and 
John's  Ernest,  the  touching  humility  before  her  of 
Julian  Maldon,  once  more  inflated  her  self-esteem — 
it  could  not  possibly  have  failed  to  do  so.  She  knew 
that  she  was  an  extraordinary  woman,  and  a  prize. 

Invigorated  and  reassured  by  these  reflections,  she 
descended  proudly  to  the  ground  floor.  And  then, 
hesitating  at  the  entrance  to  the  parlor,  she  went 
into  the  kitchen  and  poked  the  fire.  As  the  fire  was 
in  excellent  condition  there  was  no  reason  for  this 
act  except  her  diffidence  at  the  prospect  of  an  encoun- 
ter with  Louis.  At  last,  having  examined  the  tea- 
tray  and  invented  other  delays,  she  tightened  her 
nerves  and  passed  into  the  parlor  to  meet  the  man 
who  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  her  like  the  danger  of  a 
catastrophe.  He  was  not  there.  The  parlor  was 
empty.     His  book  was  lying  on  the  Chesterfield. 

She  felt  relieved.  It  was  perhaps  not  very  wise 
for  him  to  have  gone  out  for  a  walk,  but  if  he  chose 
to  run  risks,  he  was  free  to  do  so,  for  all  she  cared. 
In  the  mean  time  the  interview  was  postponed ;  hence 
her  craven  relief.     She  lit  the  gas,  but  not  by  the 

374 


THE    LETTER 

same  device  as  in  Mrs.  Maldon's  day;  and  then  she 
saw  an  envelope  lying  on  the  table.  It  was  ad- 
dressed, in  Louis'  handwriting,  to  "Mrs.  Louis 
Fores/ '  She  was  alone  in  the  house.  She  felt  sick. 
Why  should  he  write  a  letter  to  her  and  leave  it 
there  on  the  table?  She  invented  half  a  dozen  harm- 
less reasons  for  the  letter,  but  none  of  them  was  in 
the  least  convincing.  The  mere  aspect  of  the  letter 
frightened  her  horribly.  There  was  no  strength  in 
her  limbs.  She  tore  the  envelope  in  a  daze. 
The  letter  ran : 

Dear  Rachel, — I  have  decided  to  leave  England.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  I  shall  be  away.  I  cannot  and  will  not  stand 
the  life  I  have  been  leading  with  you  this  last  week.  I  had  a 
perfectly  satisfactory  explanation  to  give  you,  but  you  have 
most  rudely  refused  to  listen  to  it.  So  now  I  shall  not  give  it. 
I  shall  write  you  as  to  my  plans.  I  shall  send  you  whatever 
money  is  necessary  for  you.  By  the  way,  I  put  four  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  away  in  my  private  drawer.  On  looking  for 
it  this  afternoon  I  see  that  you  have  taken  it,  without  saying  a 
word  to  me.  You  must  account  to  me  for  this  money.  When 
you  have  done  so  we  will  settle  how  much  I  am  to  send  you. 
In  the  mean  time  you  can  draw  from  it  for  necessary  expenses. 

Yours,  L.  F. 

II 

Rachel  stared  at  the  letter.  It  was  the  first  letter 
she  had  seen  written  on  the  new  note-paper,  embossed 
with  the  address:  "Bycars,  Bursley.,,  Louis  would 
not  have  "Bycars  Lane"  on  the  note-paper,  because 
"Bycars"  alone  was  more  vague  and  impressive; 
distant  strangers  might  take  it  to  be  the  name  of 
a  magnificent  property.  Her  lips  curled.  She  vio- 
lently ripped  the  paper  to  bits  and  stuck  them  in  the 
fire;  a  few  fragments  escaped  and  fluttered  like  snow 

375 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

on  to  the  fender.  She  screwed  up  the  envelope  and 
flung  it  after  the  letter.  Her  face  smarted  and 
tingled  as  the  blood  rushed  passionately  to  her  head. 

She  thought,  aghast:  "Everything  is  over.  He 
will  never  come  back.  He  will  never  have  enough 
moral  force  to  come  back.  We  haven't  been  mar- 
ried two  months,  and  everything  is  over.  And  this 
is  Easter  Saturday.  He  wanted  us  to  be  at  Llan- 
dudno or  somewhere  for  Easter,  and  I  shouldn't  be 
at  all  surprised  if  he's  gone  there.  Yes,  he  would 
be  capable  of  that.  And  if  it  wasn't  for  the  plaster 
on  his  face,  he'd  be  capable  of  gallivanting  on  Llan- 
dudno pier  this  very  night!" 

She  had  no  illusion  as  to  him.  She  saw  him  as 
objectively  as  a  god  might  have  seen  him. 

And  then  she  thought,  with  fury:  "Oh!  What 
a  fool  I've  been!  What  a  little  fool!  Why  didn't 
I  listen  to  him?  Why  didn't  I  foresee?  .  .  .  No,  I've 
not  been  a  fool!  I've  not!  I've  not!  What  did  I 
do  wrong?  Nothing!  I  couldn't  have  borne  his 
explanations!  .  .  .  Explanations,  indeed!  I  can  im- 
agine his  explanations!  Did  he  expect  me  to  smile 
and  kiss  him  after  he'd  told  me  he  was  a  thief?" 

And  then  she  thought,  in  reference  to  his  deser- 
tion: "It's  not  true.     It  can't  be  true." 

She  wanted  to  read  the  letter  again,  so  that  per- 
haps she  might  read  something  into  it  that  was  hope- 
ful. But  to  read  it  again  was  impossible.  She  tried 
to  recall  its  exact  terms,  and  could  not.  She  could 
only  remember  with  certainty  that  the  final  words 
were,  "Yours,  L.  F."  Nevertheless,  she  knew  that 
the  thing  was  true;  she  knew  by  the  weight  within 
her  breast,  and  the  horrible  nausea  that  almost  over- 
came her  self-control. 

376 


THE    LETTER 

She  whispered,  alone  in  the  room: 

"Yes,  it's  true!  And  it's  happened  to  me!  .  .  . 
He's  gone." 

And  not  the  ruin  of  her  life,  but  the  scandal  of 
the  affair,  was  the  first  matter  that  occupied  her 
mind.  She  was  too  shaken  yet  to  feel  the  full  dis- 
aster. Her  mind  ran  on  little  things.  And  just  as 
once  she  had  pictured  herself  self-conscious  in  the 
streets  of  Bursley  as  a  young  widow,  so  now  she 
pictured  herself  in  the  far  more  appalling  r61e  of 
deserted  wife.  The  scandal  would  be  enormous. 
Nothing — no  carefully  invented  fiction — would  suf- 
fice to  stifle  it.  She  would  never  dare  to  show  her 
face.  She  would  be  compelled  to  leave  the  district. 
And  supposing  a  child  came!  Fears  stabbed  her. 
She  felt  tragically  helpless  as  she  stood  there,  facing 
a  vision  of  future  terrors.  She  had  legal  rights,  of 
course.  Her  common  sense  told  her  that.  She  re- 
membered also  that  she  possessed  a  father  and  a 
brother  in  America.  But  no  legal  rights  and  no  rela- 
tives would  avail  against  the  mere  simple  negligent 
irresponsibility  of  Louis.  In  the  end,  she  would  have 
to  rely  on  herself.  All  at  once  she  recollected  that 
she  had  promised  to  see  after  Julian's  curtains. 

She  had  almost  no  money.  And  how  could  the 
admiration  of  three  men  other  than  her  husband 
(so  enheartening  a  few  minutes  earlier)  serve  her 
in  the  crisis?  No  amount  of  masculine  admiration 
could  mitigate  the  crudity  of  the  fact  that  she  had 
almost  no  money.  Louis'  illness  had  interrupted 
the  normal  course  of  domestic  finance,  if,  indeed,  a 
course  could  be  called  normal  which  had  scarcely 
begun.  Louis  had  not  been  to  the  works.  Hence 
he  had  received  no  salary.     And  how  much  salary 

377 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

was  due  to  him,  and  whether  he  was  paid  weekly  or 
monthly,  she  knew  not.  Neither  did  she  know 
whether  his  inheritance  actually  had  been  paid  over 
to  him  by  Thomas  Batchgrew. 

What  she  knew  was  that  she  had  received  no 
housekeeping  allowance  for  more  than  a  week,  and 
that  her  recent  payments  to  tradesmen  had  been 
made  from  a  very  small  remaining  supply  of  her  own 
prenuptial  money.  Economically  she  was  as  de- 
pendent on  Louis  as  a  dog,  and  not  more  so;  she  had 
the  dog's  right  to  go  forth  and  pick  up  a  living.  .  .  , 
Of  course  Louis  would  send  her  money.  Louis  was 
a  gentleman — he  was  not  a  cad.  Yes,  but  he  was  a 
very  careless  gentleman.  She  was  once  again  filled 
with  the  bitter  realization  of  his  extreme  irrespon- 
sibility. 

She  heard  a  noise  in  the  back  lobby,  and  started. 
It  was  Mrs.  Tarns,  returned.  Mrs.  Tarns  had  a  key 
of  her  own,  of  which  she  was  proud — an  affair  of 
about  four  inches  in  length  and  weighing  over  a 
quarter  of  a  pound.  It  fitted  the  scullery  door,  and 
was  indeed  the  very  key  with  which  Rachel  had 
embroidered  her  lie  to  Thomas  Batchgrew  on  the  day 
after  the  robbery.  Mrs.  Tarns  always  took  pleasure 
in  entering  the  house  from  the  rear,  without  a  sound. 
She  was  now  coming  into  the  parlor  with  the  tray  for 
high  tea.  No  wonder  that  Rachel  started.  Here 
was  the  first  onset  of  the  outer  world. 

Mrs.  Tarns  came  in,  already  perfectly  transformed 
from  a  mother,  mother-in-law,  and  grandmother  into 
a  parlor-maid  with  no  human  tie. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mrs,  Tarns/ ' 

"So  ye've  got  back,  ma'm!" 

While  Mrs.  Tarns  laid  the  table  with  many  grunts 
378 


THE   LETTER 

and  creakings  of  the  solid  iron  in  her  stays,  Rachel 
sat  on  a  chair  by  the  fire,  trying  to  seem  in  a  casual, 
dreamy  mood,  cogitating  upon  what  she  must  say. 

"Will  mester  be  down  for  tea,  ma'm?"  asked  Mrs. 
Tarns,  who  had  excusably  assumed  that  Louis  was 
up-stairs. 

And  Rachel,  forced  now  to  defend,  instead  of 
attacking,  blurted  out : 

"Oh!  By  the  way,  I  was  forgetting;  Mr.  Fores 
will  not  be  in  for  tea." 

Mrs.  Tarns,  forgetting  she  was  a  parlor-maid, 
vociferated  in  amazement  and  protest : 

"Not  be  in  for  tea,  ma'm?  And  him  as  he  is!" 
All  her  lately  gathering  suspicions  were  strengthened 
and  multiplied. 

Rachel  had  to  continue  as  she  had  begun:  "He's 
been  called  away  on  very  urgent  business.  He 
simply  had  to  go." 

Mrs.  Tarns,  intermitting  her  duties,  stood  still  and 
gazed  at  Rachel. 

"Was  it  far,  ma'm,  as  he  had  for  go?" 

A  simple  question,  and  yet  how  difficult  to  answer 
plausibly! 

"Yes— rather." 

"I  suppose  hell  be  back  to-night,  ma'm?" 

"Oh  yes,  of  course!"  replied  Rachel,  in  absurd 
haste.  "But  if  he  isn't,  I'm  not  to  worry,  he  said. 
But  he  fully  expects  to  be.  We  scarcely  had  time  to 
talk,  you  see.    He  was  getting  ready  when  I  came  in. " 

"A  telegram,  ma'm,  I  suppose  it  was?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  That  is,  I  don't  know  whether  there 
was  a  telegram  first,  or  not.  But  he  was  called  for, 
you  see.  A  cab.  I  couldn't  have  let  him  go  off 
walking,  not  as  he  is." 

379 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Mrs.  Tarns  gave  a  gesture. 

"I  suppose  I  mun  alter  this  'ere  table,  then,"  said 
she,  putting  a  cup  and  saucer  back  on  the  tray. 

"Idiot!  Idiot!"  Rachel  described  herself  to  her- 
self, when  Mrs.  Tarns,  very  much  troubled,  had  left 
the  room.  "'By  the  way,  I  was  forgetting' — 
couldn't  I  have  told  her  better  than  that?  She's 
known  for  a  week  that  there's  been  something  wrong, 
and  now  she's  certainly  guessed  there's  something 
dreadfully  wrong.  .  .  .  Just  look  at  all  the  silly  lies 
I've  told  already.  What  will  it  be  like  to-morrow — 
and  Monday?  I  wonder  what  my  face  looked  like 
while  I  was  telling  her!" 

She  rushed  up -stairs  to  discover  what  luggage 
Louis  had  taken  with  him.  But  apparently  he  had 
taken  nothing  whatever.  The  trunk,  the  valise, 
and  the  various  bags  were  all  stacked  in  the  empty 
attic,  exactly  as  she  had  placed  them.  He  must 
have  gone  off  in  a  moment  without  any  reflection  or 
preparation. 

And  when  Mrs.  Tarns  served  the  solitary  tea, 
Rachel  was  just  as  idiotic  as  before. 

"By  the  way,  Mrs.  Tarns,"  she  began  again. 
"Did  you  happen  to  tell  Mr.  Fores  where  I'd  gone 
this  afternoon?  .  .  .  You  see,  we'd  no  opportunity 
to  discuss  anything,"  she  added,  striving  once  more 
after  verisimilitude. 

"Yes'm.  I  told  him  when  I  took  him  his  early 
cup  o'  tea." 

"Did  he  ask  you?" 

"Now  ye  puzzle  me,  ma'm!  I  couldn't  swear  to 
it  to  save  my  life.     But  I  told  him." 

"What  did  he  say?"  Rachel  tried  to  smile. 

"He  didna  say  aught." 

380 


THE    LETTER 

Rachel  remained  alone,  to  objurgate  Rachel.  It 
was  indeed  only  too  obvious  from  Mrs.  Tams's  con- 
strained and  fussy  demeanor  that  the  old  woman 
had  divined  the  existence  of  serious  trouble  in  the 
Fores  household. 

in 

Some  time  after  the  empty  ceremony  of  tea, 
Rachel  sat  in  state  in  the  parlor,  dignified,  self- 
controlled,  pretending  to  sew,  as  she  had  pretended 
to  eat  and  drink  and,  afterwards,  to  have  an  im- 
portant enterprise  of  classifying  and  rearranging  her 
possessions  in  the  wardrobe  up-stairs.  Let  Mrs. 
Tarns  enter  never  so  unexpectedly,  Rachel  was  a  fit 
spectacle  for  her,  with  a  new  work-basket  by  her 
side  on  the  table,  and  her  feet  primly  on  a  footstool, 
quite  in  the  style  of  the  late  Mrs.  Maldon,  and  a 
serious  and  sagacious  look  on  her  face  that  the  fire 
and  the  gas  combined  to  illuminate.  She  did  not 
actually  sew,  but  the  threaded  needle  was  ready  in 
her  hand  to  move  convincingly  at  a  second's  notice, 
for  Mrs.  Tarns  was  of  a  restless  and  inquisitive  dis- 
position that  night. 

Apparently  secure  between  the  drawn  blinds,  the 
fire,  the  Chesterfield,  and  the  sideboard,  Rachel  was 
nevertheless  ranging  wide  among  vast  desolate  tracts 
of  experience,  and  she  was  making  singular  dis- 
coveries. For  example,  it  was  not  until  she  was 
alone  in  the  parlor  after  tea  that  she  discovered  that 
during  the  whole  of  her  interview  with  Julian  Maldon 
in  the  afternoon  she  had  never  regarded  him  as  a 
thief.  And  yet  he  was  a  thief — just  as  much  as 
Louis!  She  had  simply  forgotten  that  he  was  a 
thief.     He  did  not  seem  to  be  any  the  worse  for 

38i 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

being  a  thief.  If  he  had  shown  the  desire  to  explain 
to  her  by  word  of  mouth  the  entire  psychology  of  his 
theft,  she  would  have  listened  with  patience  and 
sympathy ;  she  would  have  encouraged  him  to  recti- 
tude. And  yet  Julian  had  no  claim  on  her;  he  was 
not  her  husband ;  she  did  not  love  him.  But  because 
Louis  was  her  husband,  and  had  a  claim  on  her,  and 
had  received  all  the  proofs  of  her  affection — therefore 
she  must  be  merciless  for  Louis !  She  perceived  the 
inconsistency;  she  perceived  it  with  painful  clearness. 
She  had  the  impartial  logic  of  the  self -accuser.  At 
intervals  the  self-accuser  was  flagellated  and  put  to 
flight  by  passionate  reaction,  but  only  to  return 
stealthily  and  irresistibly.  .  .  . 

She  had  been  wrong  to  take  the  four  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  without  a  word.  True,  Louis  had 
somewhat  casually  authorized  her  to  return  half  of 
the  sum  to  Julian,  but  the  half  was  not  the  whole. 
And  in  any  case  she  ought  to  have  told  Louis  of 
her  project.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that,  im- 
mediately upon  Mrs.  Tams's  going  out,  Louis  had 
looked  for  the  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
and,  in  swift  resentment  at  its  disappearance,  had 
determined  to  disappear  also.  He  had  been  stung 
and  stung  again,  past  bearing  (she  argued),  daily 
and  hourly  throughout  the  week,  and  the  disappear- 
ance of  the  money  had  put  an  end  to  his  patience. 
Such  was  the  upshot,  and  she  had  brought  it 
about ! 

She  had  imagined  that  she  was  waiting  for  destiny, 
but  in  fact  she  had  been  making  destiny  all  the  time, 
with  her  steely  glances  at  Louis  and  her  acrid,  un- 
compromising tongue !  .  .  .  And  did  those  other  men 
really  admire  her  ?    How,  for  instance,  could  Thomas 

38a 


THE    LETTER 

Batchgrew  admire  her,  seeing  that  he  had  suspected 
her  of  lies  and  concealment  about  the  robbery? 
If  it  was  on  account  of  supposed  lies  and  conceal- 
ment that  he  admired  her,  then  she  rejected  Thomas 
Batchgrew's  admiration.  .  .  . 

The  self-accuser  and  the  self -depredator  in  her 
grew  so  strong  that  Louis'  conduct  soon  became 
unexceptionable — save  for  a  minor  point  concerning 
a  theft  of  some  five  hundred  pounds  odd  from  an 
old  lady.  And  as  for  herself,  she,  Rachel,  was  an 
over-righteous  prig,  an  interfering  person,  a  blun- 
dering fool  of  a  woman,  a  cruel-hearted  creature. 
And  Louis  was  just  a  poor,  polite  martyr  who  had 
had  the  misfortune  to  pick  up  certain  bank-notes  that 
were  not  his. 

Then  the  tide  of  judgment  would  sweep  back,  and 
Rachel  was  the  innocent  righteous  martyr  again,  and 
Louis  the  villain.     But  not  for  long. 

She  cried  passionately  within  her  brain:  "I  must 
have  him.     I  must  get  hold  of  him.     I  must!'9 

But  when  the  brief  fury  of  longing  was  exhausted 
she  would  ask:  "How  can  I  get  hold  of  him?  Where 
is  he?"  Then,  more  forcibly:  "What  am  I  to  do 
first?  Yes,  what  ought  I  to  do?  What  is  wisest? 
He  little  guesses  that  he  is  killing  me.  If  he  had 
guessed,  he  wouldn't  have  done  it.  But  nothing  will 
kill  me !  I  am  as  strong  as  a  horse.  I  shall  live  for 
ages.  There's  the  worst  of  it  all!  .  .  .  And  it's  no 
use  asking  what  I  ought  to  do,  either,  because 
nothing,  nothing,  nothing  would  induce  me  to  run 
after  him,  even  if  I  knew  where  to  run  to!  I 
would  die  first.  I  would  live  for  a  hundred  years 
in  torture  first.     That's  positive." 

The  hands  of  the  clock,  instead  of  moving  slowly, 
383 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

seemed  to  progress  at  a  prodigious  rate.  Mrs.  Tarns 
came  in : 

"Shall  I  lay  mester's  supper,  ma'm?" 

The  idea  of  laying  supper  for  the  master  had 
naturally  not  occurred  to  Rachel. 

"Yes,  please.' ' 

When  the  supper  was  laid,  upon  one-half  of  the 
table,  the  sight  of  it  almost  persuaded  Rachel  that 
Louis  would  be  bound  to  come — as  though  the 
waiting  supper  must  mysteriously  magnetize  him 
out  of  the  world  beyond  into  the  intimacy  of  the 
parlor. 

And  she  thought,  as  she  strove  for  the  hundredth 
time  to  recall  the  phrases  of  the  letter : 

1 ' '  Perfectly  satisfactory  explanation  F  Suppose  he 
has  got  a  perfectly  satisfactory  explanation!  He 
must  have.  He  must  have.  If  only  he  has,  every- 
thing would  be  all  right.  I'd  apologize.  I'd  almost 
go  on  my  knees  to  him.  .  .  .  And  he  was  so  ill  all 
the  time,  too!  .  .  .  But  he's  gone.  It's  too  late  now 
for  the  explanation.  Still,  as  soon  as  I  hear  from 
him,  I  shall  write  and  ask  him  for  it." 

And  in  her  mind  she  began  to  compose  a  wondrous 
letter  to  him — a  letter  that  should  preserve  her  own 
dignity  while  salving  his;  a  letter  that  should  over- 
whelm him  with  esteem  for  her. 

She  rang  the  bell.     "Don't  sit  up,  Mrs.  Tarns." 

And  when  she  had  satisfied  herself  that  Mrs.  Tarns 
with  unwilling  obedience  had  retired  up-stairs,  she 
began  to  walk  madly  about  the  parlor  (which  had 
an  appearance  at  once  very  strange  and  distressingly 
familiar),  and  to  whisper  plaintively,  and  raging,  and 
plaintively  again:  "I  must  get  him  back.  I  cannot 
bear  this.     It  is  too  much  for  me.     I  must  get  him 

384 


THE    LETTER 

back.  It's  all  my  fault. "  And  then  dropped  on  the 
Chesterfield  in  a  collapse,  moaning:  "No.  It's  no 
use  now." 

And  then  she  fancied  that  she  heard  the  gate 
creak,  and  a  latch-key  fumbling  into  the  keyhole 
of  the  front  door.  And  one  part  of  her  brain  said 
on  behalf  of  the  rest:  "I  am  mad.     I  am  delirious." 

It  was  a  fact  that  Louis  had  caused  to  be  manu- 
factured for  his  own  use  a  new  latch-key.  But  it 
was  impossible  that  this  latch-key  should  now  be 
in  the  keyhole.  She  was  delirious.  And  then  she 
unmistakably  heard  the  front  door  open.  Her  heart 
jumped  with  the  most  afflicting  violence.  She  was 
ready  to  fall  on  to  the  carpet,  but  seemed  to  be 
suspended  in  the  air.  When  she  recognized  Louis' 
footsteps  in  the  lobby  tears  burst  from  her  eyes  in 
an  impetuous  torrent. 

25 


XVII 

IN   THE    MONASTERY 


WHEN  Mrs.  Tarns  brought  in  his  early  cup  of 
tea  that  Easter  Saturday  afternoon,  Louis  had 
no  project  whatever  in  his  head,  and  he  was  ex- 
cessively, exasperatingly  bored.  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  earlier  he  had  finished  reading  the  novel  which 
had  been  mitigating  the  worst  tedium  of  his  shamed 
convalescence,  and  the  state  of  his  mind  was  not 
improved  by  the  fact  that  in  his  opinion  the  author  of 
the  novel  had  failed  to  fulfil  clear  promises — had,  in 
fact,  abused  his  trust.  On  the  other  hand,  he  felt 
very  appreciably  stronger,  and  his  self-esteem  was 
heightened  by  the  complete  correctness  of  his  toilette. 
On  that  morning  he  had  dressed  himself  with  art 
and  care  for  the  first  time  since  the  accident.  He 
enjoyed  a  little  dandyism;  dandified,  he  was  a 
better  man;  the  "fall"  of  a  pair  of  trousers  over  the 
knee,  the  gloss  of  white  wristbands,  just  showing 
beneath  the  new  cloth  of  a  well-cut  sleeve — these 
phenomena  not  only  pleased  him  but  gave  him  con- 
fidence. And  herein  was  the  sole  bright  spot  of  his 
universe  when  Mrs.  Tarns  entered. 

He  was  rather  curt  with  Mrs.  Tarns  because  she 
was  two  minutes  late;  for  two  endless  minutes  he 

386 


IN    THE    MONASTERY 

had  been  cultivating  the  resentment  of  a  man 
neglected  and  forgotten  by  every  one  of  those  whose 
business  in  life  it  is  to  succor,  humor,  and  soothe 
him. 

Mrs.  Tarns  comprehended  his  mood  with  pre- 
cision, and  instantly.  She  hovered  round  him  like 
a  hen,  indeed  like  a  whole  flock  of  hens,  and  when 
he  savagely  rebuffed  her  she  developed  from  a  flock 
of  hens  into  a  flight  of  angels. 

11  Missis  said  as  I  was  to  tell  you  as  she'd  gone  to 
see  Mr.  Julian  Maldon,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns,  in  the 
way  of  general  gossip. 

Louis  made  no  sign. 

"Her  didna  say  how  soon  her'd  be  back.  I  was 
for  going  out,  sir,  but  I'll  stop  in,  sir,  and  willing — " 

"What  time  are  you  supposed  to  go  out?"  Louis 
demanded,  in  a  tone  less  inimical  than  his  coun- 
tenance. 

"By  rights,  now,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns,  looking 
backward  through  the  open  door  at  the  lobby  clock. 

"Well,"  Louis  remarked  with  liveliness,  "if  you 
aren't  outside  this  house  in  one  minute,  in  sixty 
seconds,  I  shall  put  you  out,  neck  and  crop." 

Mrs.  Tarns  smiled.  His  amiability  was  returning, 
he  had  done  her  the  honor  to  tease  her.  She  de- 
parted, all  her  "things"  being  ready  in  the  kitchen. 
Even  before  she  had  gone  Louis  went  quickly  up- 
stairs, having  drunk  less  than  half  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
with  extraordinary  eagerness  plunged  into  the  bed- 
room and  unlocked  his  private  drawer.  He  both 
hoped  and  feared  that  the  money  which  he  had 
bestowed  there  after  Julian's  historic  visit  would  have 
vanished.     It  had  vanished. 

The  shock  was  unpleasant,  but  the  discovery  itself 
387 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

had  a  pleasant  side,  because  it  justified  the  theory 
which  had  sprung  complete  into  his  mind  when  he 
learnt  where  Rachel  had  gone,  and  also  because  it 
denuded  Rachel  of  all  reasonable  claim  to  con- 
sideration. He  had  said  to  himself:  "She  has  gone 
off  to  return  half  of  that  money  to  Julian — that's 
what  it  is.  And  she's  capable  of  returning  all  of  it 
to  him!"  .  .  .  And  she  had  done  so.  And  she  had 
not  consulted  him,  Louis.  He,  then,  was  a  nobody 
— zero  in  the  house!  She  had  deliberately  filched 
the  money  from  him,  and  to  accomplish  her  purpose 
she  had  abstracted  his  keys,  which  he  had  left  in 
his  pocket.  She  must  have  stolen  the  notes  several 
days  before,  perhaps  a  week  before,  when  he  was 
really  seriously  ill.  She  had  used  the  keys  and 
restored  them  to  his  pocket.     Astounding  baseness! 

He  murmured:  "This  finishes  it.  This  really  does 
finish  it." 

He  was  immensely  righteous  as  he  stood  alone  in 
the  bedroom  in  front  of  the  rifled  drawer.  He  was 
more  than  righteous — he  was  a  martyr.  He  had 
done  absolutely  nothing  that  was  wrong.  He  had 
not  stolen  money;  he  had  not  meant  to  steal;  the 
more  he  examined  his  conduct,  the  more  he  was 
convinced  that  it  had  been  throughout  unexcep- 
tionable, whereas  the  conduct  of  Rachel  ...  !  At 
every  point  she  had  sinned.  It  was  she,  not  he,  who 
had  burnt  Mrs.  Maldon's  hoard.  Was  it  not  mon- 
strous that  a  woman  should  be  so  careless  as  to  light 
a  fire  without  noticing  that  a  bundle  of  notes  lay  on 
the  top  of  the  coal?  Besides,  what  affair  was  it  of 
hers,  anyway?  It  concerned  himself,  Mrs.  Maldon, 
and  Julian,  alone.  But  she  must  needs  interfere. 
She  had  not  a  penny  to  bless  herself  with,  but  he  had 

388 


IN    THE    MONASTERY 

magnanimously  married  her;  and  his  reward  was  her 
inexcusable  interference  in  his  private  business. 

His  accident  was  due  solely  to  his  benevolence  for 
her.  If  he  had  not  been  wheeling  a  bicycle  procured 
for  her,  and  on  his  way  to  buy  her  a  new  bicycle, 
the  accident  would  never  have  occurred.  But  had 
she  shown  any  gratitude?  None.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  vaguely  authorized  her  to  return  half  of  the 
money  replaced  by  the  contrite  Julian;  but  no  date 
for  doing  so  had  been  fixed,  and  assuredly  she  had 
no  pretext  whatever  for  dealing  with  all  of  it.  That 
she  should  go  to  Julian  Maldon  with  either  the  half 
or  the  whole  of  the  money  without  previously  inform- 
ing him  and  obtaining  the  ratification  of  his  per- 
mission was  simply  scandalous.  And  that  she  should 
sneakingly  search  his  pockets  for  keys,  commit  a 
burglary  in  his  drawer,  and  sneakingly  put  the  keys 
back  was  outrageous,  infamous,  utterly  intolerable. 

He  said,  "I'll  teach  you  a  lesson,  my  lady,  once 
for  all." 

Then  he  went  down -stairs.  The  kitchen  was 
empty;  Mrs.  Tarns  had  gone.  But  between  the 
kitchen  and  the  parlor  he  changed  his  course,  and 
ran  up-stairs  again  to  the  drawer,  which  he  pulled 
wide  open.  At  the  back  of  it  there  ought  to  have 
been  an  envelope  containing  twenty  pounds  in  notes, 
balance  of  an  advance  payment  from  old  Batchgrew. 
The  envelope  was  there  with  its  contents.  Rachel 
had  left  the  envelope.  ' '  Good  of  her  P '  he  ejaculated 
with  sarcasm.  He  put  the  money  in  his  pocketbook, 
and  descended  to  finish  his  tea,  which  he  drank  up 
excitedly. 

A  dubious  scheme  was  hypnotizing  him.  He  was 
a  man  well  acquainted  with  the  hypnotism  of  dubious 

389 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

schemes.  He  knew  all  the  symptoms.  He  fought 
against  the  magic  influence,  and  then,  as  always, 
yielded  himself  deliberately  and  voluptuously  to  it. 
He  would  go  away.  He  would  not  wait;  he  would 
go  at  once,  in  a  moment.  She  deserved  as  much,  if 
not  more.  He  knew  not  where  he  should  go  ;  a 
thousand  reasons  against  going  assailed  him;  but  he 
would  go.  He  must  go.  He  could  no  longer  stand, 
even  for  a  single  hour,  her  harshness,  her  air  of 
moral  superiority,  her  adamantine  obstinacy.  He 
missed  terribly  her  candid  worship  of  him,  to  which 
he  had  grown  accustomed  and  which  had  become 
nearly  a  necessity  of  his  existence.  He  could  not 
live  with  an  eternal  critic;  the  prospect  was  totally 
inconceivable.  He  wanted  love,  and  he  wanted 
admiring  love,  and  without  it  marriage  was  mean- 
ingless to  him,  a  mere  imprisonment. 

So  he  would  go.  He  could  not  and  would  not 
pack;  to  pack  would  distress  him  and  bore  him;  he 
would  go  as  he  was.  He  could  buy  what  he  needed. 
The  shops — his  kind  of  shops — were  closed,  and 
would  remain  closed  till  Tuesday.  Nevertheless,  he 
would  go.  He  could  buy  the  indispensable  at 
Faulkner's  establishment  on  the  platform  at  Knype 
railway  -  station,  conveniently  opposite  the  Five 
Towns  Hotel.  He  had  determined  to  go  to  the  Five 
Towns  Hotel  that  night.  He  had  no  immediate 
resources  beyond  the  twenty  pounds,  but  he  would 
telegraph  to  Batchgrew,  who  had  not  yet  transferred 
to  him  the  inheritance,  to  pay  money  into  his  bank 
early  on  Tuesday;  if  he  were  compelled  to  draw  a 
cheque  he  would  cross  it,  and  then  it  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  presented  before  Wednesday  morning. 

At  all  costs  he  would  go.  His  face  was  still  plas- 
39o 


IN   THE    MONASTERY 

tered;  but  ha  would  go,  and  he  would  go  far,  no 
matter  where!  The  chief  thing  was  to  go.  The 
world  was  calling  him.  The  magic  of  the  dubious 
scheme  held  him  fast.  And  in  all  other  respects  he 
was  free — free  as  impulse.  He  would  go.  He  was 
not  yet  quite  recovered,  not  quite  strong.  .  .  .  Yes, 
he  was  all  right;  he  was  very  strong!  And  he 
would  go. 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  his  spring  overcoat.  Then 
he  thought  of  the  propriety  of  leaving  a  letter  behind 
him — not  for  Rachel's  sake,  but  to  insist  on  his  own 
dignity  and  to  spoil  hers.  He  wrote  the  letter,  read 
it  through  with  satisfaction,  and  quitted  the  house, 
shutting  the  door  cheerfully,  but  with  a  trembling 
hand.  Lest  he  might  meet  Rachel  on  her  way  home 
he  went  up  the  lane  instead  of  down,  and,  finding 
himself  near  the  station,  took  a  train  to  Knype — 
traveling  first  class.  The  glorious  estate  of  the 
bachelor  was  his  once  more. 


ii 

The  Five  Towns  Hotel  stood  theoretically  in  the 
borough  of  Hanbridge,  but  in  fact  it  was  in  neither 
Hanbridge  nor  Knype,  but  "opposite  Knype  sta- 
tion/' on  the  quiet  side  of  Knype  station,  far  away 
from  any  urban  traffic;  the  gross  roar  of  the  electric 
trams  running  between  Knype  and  Hanbridge  could 
not  be  heard  from  the  great  portico  of  the  hotel.  It 
is  true  that  the  hotel  primarily  existed  on  its  proximi- 
ty to  the  railway  center  of  the  Five  Towns.  But  it 
had  outgrown  its  historic  origin,  and  would  have 
moderately  flourished  even  had  the  North  Stafford- 
shire railway  been  annihilated.     By  its  sober  grand- 

39* 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

eur  and  its  excellent  cooking  it  had  taken  its  place 
as  the  first  hotel  in  the  district.  It  had  actually  no 
rival.  Heroic,  sublime  efforts  had  been  made  in  the 
center  of  Hanbridge  to  overthrow  the  pre-eminence 
of  the  Five  Towns  Hotel.  The  forlorn  result  of  one 
of  these  efforts — so  immense  was  it! — had  been 
bought  by  the  municipality  and  turned  into  a  Town 
Hall — supreme  instance  of  the  Five  Towns'  habit 
of  "making  things  do!"  No  effort  succeeded.  Men 
would  still  travel  from  the  ends  of  the  Five  Towns 
to  the  bar,  the  billiard-rooms,  the  banqueting-halls 
of  the  Five  Towns  Hotel,  where  every  public  or 
semi-public  ceremonial  that  included  conviviality 
was  obliged  to  happen  if  it  truly  respected  itself. 

The  Five  Towns  Hotel  had  made  fortunes,  and 
still  made  them.  It  was  large  and  imposing  and 
somber.  The  architect,  who  knew  his  business,  had 
designed  staircases,  corridors,  and  accidental  alcoves 
on  the  scale  of  a  palace;  so  that  privacy  amid  pub- 
licity could  always  be  found  within  its  walls.  It  was 
superficially  old-fashioned,  and  in  reality  modern. 
It  had  a  genuine  chef,  with  subchefs,  good  waiters 
whose  sole  weakness  was  linguistic,  and  an  apart- 
ment of  carven  oak  with  a  vast  counterfeit  eye  that 
looked  down  on  you  from  the  ceiling.  It  was  ready 
for  anything — a  reception  to  celebrate  the  nuptials 
of  a  maid,  a  lunch  to  a  Cabinet  minister  with  an 
axe  to  grind  in  the  district,  or  a  sale  by  auction  of 
house-property  with  wine  ad  libitum  to  encourage 
bids. 

But  its  chief  social  use  was  perhaps  as  a  retreat 
for  men  who  were  tired  of  a  world  inhabited  by  two 
sexes.  Sundry  of  the  great  hotels  of  Britain  have 
forgotten  this  ancient  function,  and  are  as  full  of 

392 


IN    THE    MONASTERY 

frills,  laces,  color,  and  soft  giggles  as  a  London 
restaurant,  so  that  in  Manchester,  Liverpool,  and 
Glasgow  a  man  in  these  days  has  no  safe  retreat 
except  the  gloominess  of  a  provincial  club.  The 
Five  Towns  Hotel  had  held  fast  to  old  tradition  in 
this  respect.  Ladies  were  certainly  now  and  then 
to  be  seen  there,  for  it  was  a  hotel  and  as  such  en- 
joyed much  custom.  But  in  the  main  it  resembled 
a  monastery.  Men  breathed  with  a  new  freedom 
as  they  entered  it.  Commandments  reigned  there, 
and  their  authority  was  enforced;  but  they  were  not 
precisely  the  tables  of  Moses.  The  enormous  pre- 
tense which  men  practise  for  the  true  benefit  of 
women  was  abandoned  in  the  Five  Towns  Hotel. 
Domestic  sultans  who  never  joked  in  the  drawing- 
room  would  crack  with  laughter  in  the  Five  Towns 
Hotel,  and  make  others  crack,  too.  Old  men  would 
meet  young  men  on  equal  terms,  and  feel  rather 
pleased  at  their  own  ability  to  do  so.  And  young 
men  shed  their  youth  there,  displaying  the  huge 
stock  of  wisdom  and  sharp  cynicism  which  by  hard 
work  they  had  acquired  in  an  incredibly  short  time. 
Indeed,  the  hotel  was  a  wonderful  institution,  and  a 
source  of  satisfaction  to  half  a  county. 

in 

It  was  almost  as  one  returned  from  the  dead  that 
Louis  Fores  entered  the  Five  Towns  Hotel  on  Easter 
Saturday  afternoon,  for  in  his  celibate  prime  he  had 
been  a  habitue  of  the  place.  He  had  a  thrill;  and 
he  knew  that  he  would  be  noticed,  were  it  only  as 
the  hero  and  victim  of  a  street  accident;  a  few  re- 
maining plasters  still  drew  attention  to  his  recent 

393 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

history.  At  the  same  time,  the  thrill  which  affected 
him  was  not  entirely  pleasurable,  for  he  was  fright- 
ened by  what  he  had  done:  by  the  letter  written  to 
Rachel,  by  his  abandonment  of  her,  and  also  by  the 
prospect  of  what  he  meant  to  do.  The  resulting 
situation  would  certainly  be  scandalous  in  a  high 
degree,  and  tongues  would  dwell  on  the  extreme 
brevity  of  the  period  of  marriage.  The  scandal 
would  resound  mightily.  And  Louis  hated  scandal, 
and  had  always  had  a  genuine  desire  for  respecta- 
bility. .  .  .  Then  he  reassured  himself.  "Pooh! 
What  do  I  care?"  Besides,  it  was  not  his  fault. 
He  was  utterly  blameless;  Rachel  alone  was  the 
sinner.  She  had  brought  disaster  upon  herself.  On 
the  previous  Saturday  he  had  given  her  fair  warn- 
ing by  getting  up  out  of  bed  in  his  weakness  and 
leaving  the  house — more  from  instinct  than  from  any 
set  plan.  But  she  would  not  take  a  hint.  She  would 
not  learn.  Very  good !  The  thought  of  his  inherit- 
ance and  of  his  freedom  uplifted  him  till  he  became 
nearly  a  god. 

Owing  to  the  Easter  holidays  the  hotel  was  less 
bright  and  worldly  than  usual.  Moreover,  Satur- 
day was  never  one  of  its  brilliant  days  of  the  week. 
In  the  twilight  of  a  subsidiary  lounge,  illuminated  by 
one  early  electric  spark,  a  waiter  stood  alone  amid 
great  basket-chairs  and  wicker-tables.  Louis  knew 
the  waiter,  as  did  every  man-about-town ;  but  Louis 
imagined  that  he  knew  him  better  than  most;  the 
waiter  gave  a  similar  impression  to  all  impressionable 
young  men. 

"How  do  you  do,  Krupp?"  Louis  greeted  him, 
with  kind  familiarity. 

"Good  afternoon,  sir." 

394 


IN   THE    MONASTERY 

It  was  perhaps  the  hazard  of  his  name  that  had 
given  the  waiter  a  singular  prestige  in  the  district. 
Krupp  is  a  great  and  an  unforgettable  name,  wher- 
ever you  go.  And  also  it  offers  people  a  chance  to 
be  jocose  with  facility.  A  hundred  haitues  had 
made  the  same  joke  to  Krupp  about  Krupp's  name, 
and  each  had  supposed  himself  to  be  humorous  in 
an  original  manner.  Krupp  received  the  joculari- 
ties with  the  enigmatic  good-fellow  air  with  which 
he  received  everything.  None  knew  whether  Krupp 
admired  or  disdained,  loved  or  hated,  the  Five  Towns 
and  the  English  character.  He  was  a  foreigner  from 
some  vague  frontier  of  Switzerland,  possessing  no 
language  of  his  own  but  a  patois,  and  speaking 
other  languages  less  than  perfectly.  He  had  been 
a  figure  in  the  Five  Towns  Hotel  for  over  twenty 
years.  He  was  an  efficient  waiter;  yet  he  had 
never  risen  on  the  staff,  and  was  still  just  the  lounge 
or  billiard-room  waiter  that  he  had  always  been — 
and  apparently  content  with  destiny. 

Louis  asked  brusquely,  as  one  who  had  no  time 
to  waste,  "Will  Faulkner's  be  open?" 

Krupp  bent  down  and  glanced  through  an  inter- 
stice of  a  partition  at  a  clock  in  the  corridor. 
,  "Yes,  sir,"  said  Krupp  with  calm  certainty. 

Louis,  pleased,  thought,  "This  man  is  a  fine 
waiter."  Somehow  Krupp  made  it  seem  as  if  by 
the  force  of  his  will  he  had  forced  Faulkner's  to  be 
open — in  order  to  oblige  Mr.  Fores. 

"Because,"  said  Louis,  casually,  "I've  no  luggage, 
not  a  rag,  and  I  want  to  buy  a  few  things,  and  no 
other  place  '11  be  open." 

' '  Yes,  sir, ' ■  said  Krupp,  mysterious,  and  quite  incuri- 
ous.   He  did  not  even  ask, 1 '  Do  you  wish  a  room,  sir  ?" 

395 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

"  Heard  about  my  accident,  I  suppose  ?"  Louis 
went  on,  a  little  surprised  that  Krupp  should  make 
no  sympathetic  reference  to  his  plasters. 

Krupp  became  instantly  sympathetic,  yet  keep- 
ing his  customary  reserve. 

"Yes,  sir.  And  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  are  re- 
covered/ '  he  said,  with  the  faint,  indefinable  foreign 
accent  and  the  lack  of  idiom  which  combined  to  de- 
prive his  remarks  of  any  human  quality. 

"Well,"  said  Louis,  not  quite  prepared  to  admit 
that  the  affair  had  gone  so  smoothly  as  Krupp  ap- 
peared to  imply,  "I  can  tell  you  I've  had  a  pretty 
bad  time.  I  really  ought  not  to  be  here  now,  but — " 
He  stopped. 

"Strange  it  should  happen  to  you,  sir.  A  gentle- 
man who  was  in  here  the  other  day  said  that  in  his 
opinion  you  were  one  of  the  cleverest  cyclists  in  the 
Five  Towns." 

Louis  naturally  inquired,  "Who  was  that?" 

"I  could  not  say,  sir.  Not  one  of  our  regular  cus- 
tomers, sir,"  with  a  touch  of  mild  depreciation.  "A 
dark  gentleman,  with  a  beard,  a  little  lame,  I 
fancy."  As  Krupp  had  invented  the  gentleman 
and  his  opinion  to  meet  the  occasion,  he  was 
right  in  depriving  him  of  the  rank  of  a  regular 
customer. 

"Oh!"  murmured  Louis.  "By  the  way,  has  Mr. 
Gibbs  come  yet?" 

"Mr.  Gibbs,  sir?" 

"Yes,  an  American.  I  have  an  appointment  with 
him  this  afternoon.  If  he  comes  in  while  I'm  over 
at  Faulkner's  just  tell  him,  will  you?  I  think  he's 
stopping  at  the  Majestic." 

The  Majestic  being  the  latest  rival  hotel  at  Han- 
30 


IN   THE    MONASTERY 

bridge,  Krupp  raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  peculiar  way 
and  nodded  his  head. 

Just  as  Krupp  had  invented  a  gentleman,  so  now 
Louis  was  inventing  one.  Neither  Krupp  nor  Louis 
guessed  the  inventive  act  of  the  other.  Krupp 's  act 
was  a  caprice,  a  piece  of  embroidery,  charming  and 
unnecessary.  But  Louis  was  inventing  with  serious 
intent,  for  he  had  to  make  his  presence  at  the  Five 
Towns  Hotel  on  Easter  Saturday  seem  natural  and 
inevitable. 

"And  also  I  want  the  Cunard  list  of  sailings,  and 
the  White  Star,  too.  There's  a  Cunard  boat  from 
Liverpool  on  Monday,  isn't  there  ?" 

"I  don't  think  so,  sir,"  said  Krupp,  "but  I'll  see." 

"I  understood  from  Mr.  Gibbs  there  was.  And 
I'm  going  to  Liverpool  by  that  early  train  to- 
morrow." 

"Sunday,  sir?" 

"Yes,  I  must  be  in  Liverpool  to-morrow  night." 

Louis  went  across  to  the  station  to  Faulkner's. 
He  considered  that  he  was  doing  very  well.  And 
after  all,  why  not  go  to  America — not  on  Monday, 
for  he  was  quite  aware  that  no  boat  left  on  Monday 
— but  in  a  few  days,  after  he  had  received  the  whole 
sum  that  Thomas  Batchgrew  held  for  him.  He 
could  quite  plausibly  depart  on  urgent  business  con- 
nected with  new  capitalistic  projects.  He  could 
quite  plausibly  remain  in  America  as  long  as  con- 
venient. America  beckoned  to  him.  He  remem- 
bered all  the  appetizing  accounts  that  he  had  ever 
heard  from  American  commercial  travelers  of  Broad- 
way and  Fifth  Avenue — incredible  streets.  In 
America  he  might  treble,  quadruple,  his  already  vast 
capital.     The  romance  of  the  idea  intoxicated  him. 

397 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

IV 

When  he  got  back  from  Faulkner's  with  a  parcel 
(which  he  threw  to  the  cloak-room  attendant  to  keep) 
he  felt  startlingly  hungry,  and,  despite  the  early 
hour,  he  ordered  a  steak  in  the  grill-room;  and  not 
a  steak  merely,  but  all  the  accoutrements  of  a  steak, 
with  beverages  to  match.  And  to  be  on  the  safe 
side  he  paid  for  the  meal  at  once,  with  a  cheque  for 
ten  pounds,  receiving  the  change  in  gold  and  silver, 
and  thus  increasing  his  available  cash  to  about 
thirty  pounds.  Then  in  the  lounge,  with  Cuban 
cigar-smoke  in  his  eyes,  and  Krupp  discoursing  to 
him  of  all  conceivable  Atlantic  liners,  he  wrote  a 
letter  to  Thomas  Batchgrew  and  marked  it  "very 
urgent " ;  which  was  simple  prudence  on  his  part,  for 
he  had  drawn  a  cheque  for  ten  pounds  on  a  non- 
existent bank-balance.  At  last,  as  Mr.  Gibbs  had 
not  arrived,  he  said  he  should  stroll  up  to  the  Ma- 
jestic. He  had  not  yet  engaged  a  room ;  he  seemed 
to  hesitate  before  that  decisive  act.  .  .  . 

Then  it  was  that,  in  the  corridor  immediately  out- 
side the  lounge,  he  encountered  Jim  Horrocleave. 
The  look  in  Jim  Horrocleave* s  ferocious  eye 
shocked  him.  Louis  had  almost  forgotten  his  em- 
ployer, and  the  sudden  spectacle  of  him  was  discon- 
certing. 

"Hello,  Fores !"  said  Horrocleave  very  sardoni- 
cally, with  no  other  greeting.  "I  thought  ye  were 
too  ill  to  move."  No  word  of  sympathy  in  the  mat- 
ter of  the  accident !  Simply  the  tone  of  an  employer 
somehow  aggrieved! 

"I'm  out  to-day  for  the  first  time.  Had  to  come 
down  here  on  a  matter — " 

398 


IN   THE    MONASTERY 

Horrocleave  spoke  lower,  and  even  more  sar- 
donically, "I  hear  ye're  off  to  America.' ' 

Louis  looked  through  the  fretted  partition  at  the 
figure  of  Krupp  alone  in  the  lounge.  And  Horro- 
cleave also  looked  at  Krupp.  And  Krupp  looked 
back  with  his  enigmatic  gaze,  perhaps  scornful,  per- 
haps indifferent,  perhaps  secretly  appreciative — but 
in  any  case  profoundly  foreign  and  aloof  and 
sinister. 

"Well — "  Louis  began,  at  a  disadvantage.  "Who 
says  I'm  off  to  America?" 

Horrocleave  advanced  his  chin  and  clenched  a 
fist. 

"Don't  you  go!"  said  he.  "If  ye  did,  ye  might 
be  brought  back  by  the  scruff  o'  the  neck.  You 
mark  my  words  and  come  down  to  the  works  to- 
morrow morning — to-morrow,  ye  understand!"  He 
was  breathing  quickly.  Then  a  malicious  grin 
seemed  to  pass  over  his  face  as  his  glance  rested  for 
an  instant  on  Louis'  plasters.  The  next  instant  he 
walked  away,  and  Louis  heard  him  at  the  cloak- 
room counter  barking  the  one  word,  "Mackin- 
tosh." 

Louis  understood,  only  too  completely.  During 
his  absence  from  the  works,  Horrocleave  had  amused 
himself  by  critically  examining  the  old  petty-cash 
book.  That  was  all,  and  it  was  enough.  Good-by 
to  romance,  to  adventure,  to  the  freedom  of  the 
larger  world!  The  one  course  to  pursue  was  to  re- 
turn home,  to  deny  (as  was  easy)  that  the  notion  of 
going  to  America  had  ever  occurred  to  him,  or  even 
the  notion  of  putting  up  at  the  hotel,  and  with  such 
dignity  as  he  could  assume  to  restore  to  Horrocleave 
the  total  sum  abstracted.     With  care  and  luck  he 

399 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

might  yet  save  his  reputation.  It  was  impossible 
that  Horrocleave  should  prosecute.  And  what  was 
seventy  odd  pounds,  after  all?  He  was  master  of 
thousands. 

If  he  could  but  have  walked  straight  out  of  the 
hotel!  But  he  could  not.  His  dignity,  the  most 
precious  of  all  his  possessions,  had  to  be  maintained. 
Possibly  Krupp  had  overheard  the  conversation,  or 
divined  its  nature.  He  strolled  back  into  the 
lounge. 

"A  Benedictine/ ■  he  ordered,  casually,  and,  neat- 
ly pulling  up  his  trousers  at  the  knee,  sank  into  a 
basket-chair  and  crossed  his  legs,  while  blowing  forth 
much  smoke. 

"Yes,  sir." 

When  Krupp  brought  the  tiny  glass,  Louis  paid 
for  it  without  looking  at  him,  and  gave  a  good  tip. 
Ah !  He  would  have  liked  to  peer  into  Krupp's  in- 
most mind  and  know  exactly  how  Krupp  had  been 
discussing  him  with  Jim  Horrocleave.  He  would 
have  liked  to  tell  Krupp  in  cutting  tones  that  waiters 
had  no  right  to  chatter  to  one  customer  about  an- 
other. And  then  he  would  have  liked  to  destroy 
Krupp.  But  he  could  not.  His  godlike  dignity 
would  not  permit  him  to  show  by  even  the  slightest 
gesture  that  he  had  been  inconvenienced.  The 
next  moment  he  perceived  that  providence  had  been 
watching  over  him.  If  he  had  gone  to  America 
unknown  to  Horrocleave,  Horrocleave  might  indeed 
have  proved  seriously  awkward.  .  .  .  Extradition — 
was  there  such  a  word,  and  such  a  thing?  He 
finished  the  Benedictine,  went  to  the  cloak-room  and 
obtained  his  hat,  coat,  stick,  and  parcel;  and  the 
hovering  Krupp  helped  him  with  his  overcoat;  and, 

400 


IN    THE    MONASTERY 

as  destiny  cast  him  out  of  the  dear  retreat  which  a 
little  earlier  he  had  entered  with  such  pleasurable 
anticipations,  he  was  followed  down  the  corridor  by 
the  aloof,  disinterested  gaze  of  the  Swiss,  whose 
enigma  no  Staffordshire  man  had  ever  penetrated. 

26 


XVIII 

MRS.    TAMS'S    STRANGE    BEHAVIOR 


IN  the  house  at  Bycars,  where  he  arrived  tardily 
after  circuitous  wanderings,  Louis  first  of  all 
dropped  the  parcel  from  Faulkner's  into  the  oak 
chest,  raising  and  lowering'the  lid  without  any  noise. 
Once,  in  the  train  in  Bleakridge  tunnel,  he  had  al- 
most thrown  the  parcel  out  of  the  carriage  on  to  the 
line,  as  though  it  were  in  some  subtle  way  a  piece 
of  evidence  against  him;  but,  aided  by  his  vanity, 
he  had  resisted  the  impulse.  Why,  indeed,  should 
he  be  afraid  of  a  parcel  of  linen?  Had  he  not  the 
right  to  buy  linen  when  and  how  he  chose?  Then 
he  removed  his  hat  and  coat,  hung  them  carefully 
in  their  proper  place,  smoothed  his  hair,  and  walked 
straight  into  the  parlor.  He  had  a  considerable  gift 
of  behaving  as  though  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary 
had  happened,  when  the  contrary  was  the  case. 
Nobody  could  have  guessed  from  his  features  that 
he  was  calculating  and  recalculating  the  chances 
of  immediate  imprisonment,  and  that  each  succes- 
sive calculation  disagreed  with  the  previous  one;  at 
one  moment  the  chances  were  less  than  one  in  a 
hundred,  less  than  one  in  a  million;  at  another  they 
increased  and  multiplied  themselves  into  tragic 
certainty. 

402 


MRS.  TAMS'S   STRANGE    BEHAVIOR 

When  Rachel  heard  him  in  the  lobby  her  sudden 
tears  were  tears  of  joy  and  deliverance.  She  did  not 
try  to  restrain  them.  As  she  stole  back  to  her  chair 
she  ignored  all  her  reasonings  against  him,  and  lived 
only  in  the  fact  that  he  had  returned.  And  she  was 
triumphant.  She  thought:  "Now  that  he  is  in  the 
house,  he  is  mine.  I  have  him.  He  cannot  escape 
me.  In  a  caress  I  shall  cancel  all  the  past  since  his 
accident.  So  long  as  I  can  hold  him  I  don't  care.,, 
Her  soul  dissolved  in  softness  towards  him;  even 
the  body  seemed  to  melt  also,  till,  instead  of  being 
a  strong,  sturdy  girl,  she  was  a  living  tentacular 
endearment  and  naught  else. 

But  when,  with  disconcerting  quickness,  he  came 
into  the  room,  she  hardened  again  in  spite  of  herself. 
She  simply  could  not  display  her  feelings.  Upbring- 
ing, habit,  environment  were  too  much  for  her,  and 
spontaneity  was  checked.  Had  she  been  alone  with 
a  dog  she  would  have  spent  herself  passionately  on 
the  dog,  imaginatively  transforming  the  dog  into 
Louis;  but  the  sight  of  Louis  in  person  congealed 
her,  so  that  she  became  a  hard  mass  with  just  a  tiny 
core  of  fire  somewhere  within. 

"Why  cannot  I  jump  up  and  fall  on  his  neck?" 
she  asked  herself,  angrily.     But  she  could  not. 

She  controlled  her  tears,  and  began  to  argue  men- 
tally whether  Louis  had  come  home  because  he  could 
not  keep  away  from  her,  or  for  base  purposes  of  his 
own.  She  was  conscious  of  a  desire  to  greet  him 
sarcastically  with  the  remark,  "So  you've  come  back, 
after  all!,,  It  was  a  wilful,  insensate  desire;  but 
there  it  was.  She  shut  her  lips  on  it,  not  without 
difficulty. 

"I've  kept  some  supper  for  you,"  she  said,  with 
403 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

averted  head.  She  wanted  to  make  her  voice  kind, 
but  it  would  not  obey  her.  It  was  neither  kind 
nor  unkind.     There  were  tears  in  it,  however. 

They  did  not  look  at  each  other. 

"Why  did  you  keep  supper  for  me?"  he  mumbled. 

"I  thought  you  might  find  you  weren't  well 
enough  to  travel,"  she  answered,  thoughtfully,  with 
her  face  still  bent  over  the  work  which  she  was  spoil- 
ing with  every  clumsy,  feverish  stitch. 

This  surprising  and  ingenious  untruth  came  from 
her  without  the  slightest  effort.  It  seemed  to  in- 
vent itself. 

"Well,"  said  Louis,  "I  don't  happen  to  want  any 
supper."  His  accent  was  slightly  but  definitely 
inimical.  He  perceived  that  he  had  an  advantage, 
and  he  decided  to  press  it. 

Rachel  also  perceived  this,  and  she  thought,  re- 
sentfully: "How  cruel  he  is!  How  mean  he  is!" 
She  hated  and  loved  him  simultaneously.  She  fore- 
saw that  peace  must  be  preceded  by  the  horrors  of 
war,  and  she  was  discouraged.  Though  determined 
that  he  should  not  escape  from  the  room  unrecon- 
ciled, she  was  ready  to  inflict  dreadful  injuries  on 
him,  as  he  on  her.  They  now  regarded  each  other 
askance,  furtively,  as  dire  enemies. 

Louis,  being  deficient  in  common  sense,  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  immediate  victory.  He  well 
knew  that,  in  case  of  trouble  with  Jim  Horrocleave, 
he  might  be  forced  to  humble  himself  before  his  wife, 
and  that  present  arrogance  would  only  intensify 
future  difficulties.  Also,  he  had  easily  divined  that 
the  woman  opposite  to  him  was  a  softer  Rachel  than 
the  one  he  had  left,  and  very  ready  for  pacific  com- 
promise.    Nevertheless,  in  his  polite,  patient  way, 

404 


MRS.  TAMS'S   STRANGE   BEHAVIOR 

he  would  persist  in  keeping  the  attitude  of  an  ill- 
used  saint  with  a  most  clear  grievance.  And  more 
than  this,  he  wanted  to  appear  absolutely  consistent, 
even  in  coming  home  again.  Could  he  have  recalled 
the  precise  terms  of  his  letter,  he  would  have  con- 
trived to  interpret  them  so  as  to  include  the  pos- 
sibility of  his  return  that  night.  He  fully  intended 
to  be  the  perfect  male. 

Drawing  his  cigarette-case  and  match-box  from 
his  hip  pocket,  by  means  of  the  silver  cable  which 
attached  them  to  his  person,  he  carefully  lit  a 
cigarette  and  rose  to  put  the  spent  match  in  the  fire. 
While  at  the  hearth  he  looked  at  his  plastered  face 
in  the  glass,  critically  and  dispassionately,  as  though 
he  had  nothing  else  in  the  world  to  do.  Then  his 
eye  caught  some  bits  of  paper  in  the  fender — frag- 
ments of  his  letter  which  Rachel  had  cast  into  the 
fire  and  on  to  the  hearth.  He  stooped,  picked  up 
one  white  piece,  gazed  at  it,  dropped  it,  picked  up 
another,  gazed  at  it,  dropped  it,  fastidiously. 

"Hm!"  he  said,  faintly. 

Then  he  stood  again  at  his  full  height  and  blew 
smoke  profusely  about  the  mantelpiece.  He  was 
very  close  to  Rachel,  and  above  her.  He  could  see 
the  top  of  her  bent,  mysterious  head;  he  could  see 
all  the  changing  curves  of  her  breast  as  she  breathed. 
He  knew  intimately  her  frock,  the  rings  on  her  hand, 
the  buckle  on  her  shoe.  He  knew  the  whole  feel  of 
the  room — the  buzz  of  the  gas,  the  peculiarities  of 
the  wall-paper,  the  thick  curtain  over  the  door  to 
his  right,  the  folds  of  the  table-cloth.  And  in  his  in- 
felicity and  in  his  resentment  against  Rachel  he 
savored  it  all  not  without  pleasure.  The  mere  in- 
violable solitude  with  this  young,  strange,  provoca- 

405 


THE    PRICE   OF    LOVE 

tive  woman  in  the  night  beyond  the  town  stimulated 
him  into  a  sort  of  zest  of  living. 

There  was  a  small  sound  from  the  young  woman; 
her  breathing  was  checked;  she  had  choked  down  a 
dry  sob.  This  signal,  so  faint  and  so  dramatic  in 
the  stillness  of  the  parlor,  at  once  intimidated  and 
encouraged  him. 

"What  have  you  done  with  that  money ?"  he 
asked,  in  a  cold  voice. 

"What  money ?"  Rachel  replied,  low,  without 
raising  her  head.  Her  hand  had  ceased  to  move  the 
needle. 

"You  know  what  money.' ' 

"I  took  it  to  Julian,  of  course." 

"Why  did  you  take  it  to  Julian ?" 

"We  agreed  I  should,  last  week — you  yourself  said 
so — don't  you  remember?"  Her  tones  acquired 
some  confidence. 

"No,  I  don't  remember.  I  remember  something 
was  said  about  letting  him  have  half  of  it.  Did  you 
give  him  half  or  all  of  it?" 

"I  gave  him  all  of  it." 

"I  like  that!  I  like  that!"  Louis  remarked,  sar- 
castically. "I  like  your  nerve.  You  do  it  on  the 
sly.  You  don't  say  a  word  to  me;  and  not  content 
with  that,  you  give  him  all  of  it.  Why  didn't  you 
tell  me?     Why  didn't  you  ask  me  for  the  money?" 

Rachel  offered  no  answer. 

Louis  proceeded  with  more  vivacity.  "And  did 
he  take  it?" 

"I  made  him." 

"What?  All  of  it?  What  reason  did  you  give? 
How  did  you  explain  things?" 

"I  told  him  you'd  had  the  rest  of  the  money,  of 
406 


MRS.  TAMS'S   STRANGE   BEHAVIOR 

course,  so  it  was  all  right.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
fair  to  him  if  some  one  hadn't  told  him." 

Louis  now  seriously  convinced  himself  that  his 
grievance  was  tremendous,  absolutely  unexampled  in 
the  whole  history  of  marriage. 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  high,  gloomy  dignity,  "it 
may  interest  you  to  know  that  I  didn't  have  the  rest 
of  the  money.  ...  If  I'd  had  it,  what  do  you 
suppose  I've  done  with  it?  .  .  .  Over  five  hundred 
pounds,  indeed!" 

"Then  what— ?" 

"I  don't  think  I  want  any  of  your  "Then  what's.' 
You  wouldn't  listen  before,  so  why  should  you  be 
told  now?  However,  I  expect  I  must  teach  you  a 
lesson — though  it's  too  late." 

Rachel  did  not  move.  She  heard  him  say  that  he 
had  discovered  the  bank-notes  at  night,  under  the 
chair  on  the  landing.  "I  took  charge  of  them.  I 
collared  them,  for  the  time  being,"  he  said.  "I 
happened  to  be  counting  them  when  you  knocked  at 
my  bedroom  door.  I  admit  I  was  rather  taken 
aback.  I  didn't  want  you  to  see  the  notes.  I  didn't 
see  any  reason  why  you  should  know  anything  about 
my  aunt's  carelessness.  You  must  remember  you 
were  only  a  paid  employee  then.  I  was  close  to  the 
fireplace.  I  just  scrunched  them  up  in  my  hand  and 
dropped  them  behind  the  fire-screen.  Of  course  I 
meant  to  pick  them  up  again  instantly  you'd  gone. 
Well,  you  didn't  go.  You  seemed  as  if  you  wouldn't 
go.  I  had  to  run  for  the  doctor.  There  was  no 
help  for  it.  Even  then  I  never  dreamt  you  intended 
to  light  the  fire  in  that  room.  It  never  occurred  to 
me  for  a  second.  .  .  .  And  I  should  have  thought 
anybody  lighting  a  fire  couldn't  have  helped  seeing 

407 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

a  thing  like  a  ball  of  bank-notes  on  the  top  of  the 
grate.  I  should  have  thought  so.  But  it  seems  I 
was  wrong.  When  I  got  back  of  course  the  whole 
blooming  thing  was  up  the  chimney.  Well,  there 
you  are!     What  was  I  to  do?     I  ask  you  that." 

He  paused.     Rachel  sobbed. 

"Of  course,' '  he  continued,  with  savage  quietude, 
"you  may  say  I  might  have  forced  you  to  listen  to 
me  this  last  week.  I  might.  But  why  should  I? 
Why  should  I  beg  and  pray  ?  If  you  didn't  know  the 
whole  story  a  week  ago,  is  it  my  fault?  I'm  not  one 
to  ask  twice.  I  can't  go  on  my  knees  and  beg  to  be 
listened  to.    Some  fellows  could,  perhaps,  but  not  me !" 

Rachel  was  overwhelmed.  The  discovery  that  it 
was  she  herself,  Pharisaical  and  unyielding,  who  had 
been  immediately  responsible  for  the  disappearance 
of  the  bank-notes  almost  dazed  her.  And  simul- 
taneously the  rehabilitation  of  her  idol  drowned  her 
in  bliss.  She  was  so  glad  to  be  at  fault,  so  ravished 
at  being  able  to  respect  him  again,  that  the  very 
ecstasy  of  existing  seemed  likely  to  put  an  end  to  her 
existence.  Her  physical  sensations  were  such  as  she 
might  have  experienced  if  her  heart  had  swiftly  sunk 
away  out  of  her  bosom  and  left  an  empty  space  there 
that  gasped.     She  glanced  up  at  Louis. 

"  I'm  so  sorry!"  she  breathed. 

Louis  did  not  move,  nor  did  his  features  relax  in 
the  slightest. 

With  one  hand  raised  in  appeal,  surrender,  aban- 
donment, and  the  other  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  and 
her  work  slipping  to  the  floor,  she  half  rose  towards 
him. 

"You  can't  tell  how  sorry  I  am!"  she  murmured. 
Her  eyes  were  liquid.     "Louis!" 

408 


MRS.  TAMS'S   STRANGE    BEHAVIOR 

"And  well  you  may  be,  if  you'll  excuse  me  saying 
so!"  answered  Louis,  frigidly. 

He  was  confirmed  in  his  illusory  but  tremendous 
grievance.  The  fundamental  lack  of  generosity  in 
him  was  exposed.  Inexperienced  though  he  was  in 
women,  he  saw  in  Rachel,  then,  just  as  if  he  had 
been  twenty  years  older,  the  woman  who  lightly 
imagines  that  the  past  can  be  wiped  out  with  a  soft 
tone,  an  endearment,  a  tear,  a  touching  appeal. 
He  would  not  let  her  off  so  easily.  She  had  horribly 
lacerated  his  dignity  for  a  week — he  could  recall 
every  single  hurt — and  he  was  not  going  to  allow 
himself  to  recover  in  a  minute.  His  dignity  required 
a  gradual  convalescence.  He  was  utterly  unaffected 
by  her  wistful  charm. 

•  Rachel  moved  her  hand  somewhat  towards  his,  and 
then  hesitated.  The  set  hardness  of  his  face  was 
incredible  to  her.  Her  head  began  to  swim.  She 
thought,  "I  shall  really  die  if  this  continues." 

"Louis — don't!"  she  besought  him,  plaintively. 

He  walked  deliberately  away  and  nervously  played 
with  an  "ornament"  on  the  sideboard. 

"And  let  me  tell  you  another  thing,"  said  he, 
slowly.  "If  you  think  I  came  back  to-night  because 
I  couldn't  do  without  you,  you're  mistaken.  I'm 
going  out  again  at  once." 

She  said  to  herself,  "He  has  killed  me."  The 
room  circled  round  her,  gathering  speed,  and  Louis 
with  it.  The  emptiness  in  her  bosom  was  intoler- 
able. 

II 

Louis  saw  her  face  turning  paler  and  paler,  till 
it  was,  really,  almost  as  white  as  the  table-cloth, 

409 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

She  fell  back  into  the  chair,  her  arms  limp  and 
lifeless. 

"Confound  the  girl!"  he  thought.  "She's  going 
to  faint  now!    What  an  infernal  nuisance!" 

Compunction,  instead  of  softening  him,  made  him 
angry  with  himself.  He  felt  awkward,  at  a  loss, 
furious. 

"Mrs.  Tarns!"  he  called  out,  and  hurried  from  the 
room.  "Mrs.  Tarns!"  As  he  went  out  he  was 
rather  startled  to  find  that  the  door  had  not  been 
quite  closed. 

In  the  lobby  he  called  again,  "Mrs.  Tarns!" 

The  kitchen  gas  showed  a  speck  of  blue.  He  had 
not  noticed  it  when  he  came  into  the  house;  the 
kitchen  door  must  have  been  shut,  then.  He  looked 
up  the  stairs.  He  could  discern  that  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Tams's  bedroom,  at  the  top,  was  open,  and  that 
there  was  no  light  in  the  room.  Puzzled,  he  rushed 
to  the  kitchen,  and  snatched  at  his  hat  as  he  went, 
sticking  it  anyhow  on  his  head. 

"Eh,  mester,  what  ever's  amiss?" 

With  these  alarmed  words  Mrs.  Tarns  appeared 
suddenly  from  behind  the  kitchen  door;  she  seemed 
a  little  out  of  breath,  as  far  as  Louis  could  hear; 
he  could  not  see  her  very  well.  The  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind.  "She's  been  listening  at 
doors." 

"Oh!  There  you  are,"  he  said,  with  an  effort  at 
ordinariness  of  demeanor.  "Just  go  in  to  Mrs. 
Fores,  will  you?  Something's  the  matter  with  her. 
It's  nothing,  but  I  have  to  go  out." 

Mrs.  Tarns  answered,  trembling:  "Nay,  mester. 
I'm  none  going  to  interfere.     I  go  into  no  parlor." 

"But  I  tell  you  she's  fainting." 
410 


MRS.   TAMS'S    STRANGE    BEHAVIOR 

"Ye'd  happen  better  look  after  her  yeself,  Mr. 
Louis,"  said  Mrs.  Tarns  in  a  queer  voice. 

"But  don't  you  understand  IVe  got  to  go  out?" 

He  was  astounded  and  most  seriously  discon- 
certed by  Mrs.  Tams's  very  singular  behavior. 

"If  yell  excuse  me  being  so  bold,  sir,"  said  Mrs. 
Tarns,  "ye  ought  for  be  right  well  ashamed  o'  yeself. 
And  that  I'll  say  with  my  dying  breath." 

She  dropped  on  to  the  hard  Windsor  chair,  and, 
lifting  her  apron,  began  to  whimper. 

Louis  could  feel  himself  blushing. 

"It  seems  to  me  you'd  better  look  out  for  a  fresh 
situation,"  he  remarked,  curtly,  as  he  turned  to  leave 
the  kitchen. 

"Happen  I  had,  mester,"  Mrs.  Tarns  agreed, 
sadly;  and  then  with  fire:  "But  I  go  into  no  parlor. 
You  get  back  to  her,  mester.  Going  out  again  at 
this  time  o'  night,  and  missis  as  her  is !  If  you  stop 
where  a  husband  ought  for  be,  her'll  soon  mend,  I 
warrant." 

He  went  back,  cursing  all  women,  because  he  had 
no  alternative  but  to  go  back.  He  dared  not  do 
otherwise.  ...  It  was  only  a  swoon.  But  was  it 
only  a  swoon?  Suppose  .  .  .  !  He  was  afraid  of 
public  opinion;  he  was  afraid  of  Mrs.  Tams's  opinion. 
Mrs.  Tarns  had  pierced  him.  He  went  back,  dashing 
his  hat  on  to  the  oak  chest. 


in 

Rachel  was  lying  on  the  hearth-rug,  one  arm 
stretched  nonchalantly  over  the  fender  and  the  hand 
close  to  the  fire.  Her  face  was  whiter  than  any  face 
he  had  ever  seen,  living  or  dead.     He  shook;  the 

411 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

inanimate  figure  with  the  disarranged  clothes  and 
hair,  prone  and  deserted  there  in  the  solitude  of  the 
warm  familiar  room,  struck  terror  into  him.  He 
bent  down;  he  knelt  down  and  drew  the  arm  away 
from  the  fire.  He  knew  not  in  the  least  what  was 
the  proper  thing  to  do;  and  naturally  the  first  im- 
pulse of  his  ignorance  was  to  raise  her  body  from  the 
ground.  But  she  was  so  heavy,  so  appallingly  inert, 
that,  fortunately,  he  could  not  do  so,  and  he  let  her 
head  subside  again. 

Then  he  remembered  that  the  proper  thing  to  do 
in  these  cases  was  to  loosen  the  clothes  round  the 
neck;  but  he  could  not  loosen  her  bodice  because  it 
was  fastened  behind  and  the  hooks  were  so  difficult. 
He  jumped  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  The  blind 
curved  inward  like  a  sail  under  the  cold  entering 
breeze.  When  he  returned  to  Rachel  he  thought  he 
noticed  the  faintest  pinky  flush  in  her  cheeks.  And 
suddenly  she  gave  a  deep  sigh.  He  knelt  again. 
There  was  something  about  the  line  of  her  waist  that, 
without  any  warning,  seemed  to  him  ineffably 
tender,  wistful,  girlish,  seductive.  Her  whole  figure 
began  to  exert  the  same  charm  over  him.  Even  her 
frock,  which  nevertheless  was  not  even  her  second 
best,  took  on  a  quality  that  in  its  simplicity  be- 
witched him.  He  recalled  her  wonderful  gesture  as 
she  lighted  his  cigarette  on  the  night  when  he  first 
saw  her  in  her  kitchen;  and  his  memory  of  it  thrilled 
him.  .  .  .  Rachel  opened  her  eyes  and  sighed  deeply 
once  more.  He  fanned  her  with  a  handkerchief 
drawn  from  his  sleeve. 

"  Louis !"  she  murmured  in  a  tired  baby's  voice, 
after  a  few  moments. 

He  thought:  "It's  a  good  thing  I  didn't  go  out, 
412 


MRS.  TAMS'S   STRANGE   BEHAVIOR 

and  I'm  glad  Mrs.  Tarns  isn't  here  blundering 
about." 

"You're  better,"  he  said,  mildly. 

She  raised  her  arms  and  clasped  him,  dragging  him 
to  her  with  a  force  that  was  amazing  under  the 
circumstances.  They  kissed ;  their  faces  were  merged 
for  a  long  time.  Then  she  pushed  him  a  little  away, 
and,  guarding  his  shoulders  with  her  hands,  examined 
his  face,  and  smiled  pathetically. 

"Call  me  Louise,"  she  whispered. 

"Silly  little  thing!     Shall  I  get  you  some  water?" 

"Call  me  Louise!" 

"Louise!" 


XIX 

RACHEL   AND   MR.    HORROCLEAVE 


THE  next  morning,  Sunday,  Rachel  had  a  fancy 
to  superintend  in  person  the  boiling  of  Louis' 
breakfast  egg.  For  a  week  past  Louis  had  not  been 
having  his  usual  breakfast,  but  on  this  morning  the 
ideal  life  was  recommencing  in  loveliest  perfection 
for  Rachel;  the  usual  breakfast  was  to  be  resumed; 
and  she  remembered  that  in  the  past  the  sacred  egg 
had  seldom,  if  ever,  been  done  to  a  turn  by  Mrs. 
Tarns.  Mrs.  Tarns,  indeed,  could  not  divide  a 
minute  into  halves,  and  was  apt  to  regard  a  prefer- 
ence for  a  certain  consistency  in  a  boiled  egg  as 
merely  finicking  and  negligible.  To  Mrs.  Tarns  a 
fresh  egg  was  a  fresh  egg,  and  there  was  no  more 
to  be  said. 

Rachel  entered  the  kitchen  like  a  radiance.  She 
was  dressed  with  special  care,  rather  too  obviously 
so,  in  order  that  she  might  be  worthy  to  walk  by 
Louis'  side  to  church.  She  was  going  with  him  to 
church  gladly,  because  he  had  rented  the  pew  and 
she  desired  to  please  him  by  an  alert  gladness  in 
subscribing  to  his  wishes;  it  was  not  enough  for  her 
just  to  do  what  he  wanted.  Her  eyes  glittered  above 
the  darkened  lower  lids;  her  gaze  was  self-conscious 

414 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

and  yet  bold;  a  faint  languor  showed  beneath  her 
happy  energy.  But  there  was  no  sign  that  on  the 
previous  evening  she  had  been  indisposed. 

Mrs.  Tarns  was  respectfully  maternal,  but  pre- 
occupied. She  fetched  the  egg  for  Rachel,  and 
Rachel,  having  deposited  it  in  a  cooking-spoon,  held 
it  over  the  small  black  saucepan  of  incontestably 
boiling  water  until  the  hand  of  the  clock  precisely 
covered  a  minute  mark,  whereupon  she  deftly  slipped 
the  egg  into  the  saucepan;  the  water  ceased  to  boil 
for  a  few  seconds  and  then  bubbled  up  again.  And 
amid  the  heavenly  frizzling  of  bacon  and  the  odor 
of  her  own  special  coffee  Rachel  stood  sternly  watch- 
ing the  clock  while  Mrs.  Tarns  rattled  plates  and  did 
the  last  deeds  before  serving  the  meal.  Then  Mrs. 
Tarns  paused  and  said : 

"I  don't  hardly  like  to  tell  ye,  ma'm — I  didn't 
hardly  like  to  tell  ye  last  night  when  ye  were  worried 
like — no,  and  I  dunna  like  now  like,  but  it's  like  as 
if  what  must  be — I  must  give  ye  notice  to  leave. 
I  canna  stop  here  no  longer." 

Rachel  turned  to  her,  protesting: 

"Now,  Mrs.  Tarns,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
I  thought  you  were  perfectly  happy  here." 

"So  I  am,  mum.  Nobody  could  wish  for  a  better 
place.  I'm  sure  I've  no  fault  to  find.  But  it's  like 
as  if  what  must  be." 

"But  what's  the  matter?" 

"Well,  ma'm,  it's  Emmy."  (Emmy  was  Mrs. 
Tams's  daughter,  and  the  mother  of  her  favorite 
grandchild.)  "Emmy  and  all  on'  em  seem  to  think 
it  '11  be  better  all  round  if  I  don't  take  a  regular 
situation,  so  as  I  can  be  more  free  for  'em,  and  they'll 
all  look  after  me  i'  my  old  age.     I  s'll  get  my  old 

4i5 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

house  back,  and  be  among  'em  all.  There's  so  many 
on  'em." 

Every  sentence  contained  a  lie.  And  the  aged 
creature  went  on  lying  to  the  same  pattern  until  she 
had  created  quite  a  web  of  convincing  detail — more 
than  enough  to  persuade  her  mistress  that  she  was 
in  earnest,  foolishly  in  earnest,  that  she  didn't  know 
on  which  side  her  bread  was  buttered,  and  that  the 
poorer  classes  in  general  had  no  common  sense. 

"You're  all  alike,"  said  the  wise  Rachel. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  ma'm." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do?  It's  very  annoying  for 
me,  you  know.     I  thought  you  were  a  permanency." 

"Yes,  ma'm." 

"I  should  like  to  give  your  daughters  and  daugh- 
ters-in-law a  piece  of  my  mind.  .  .  .  Good  heavens! 
Give  me  that  cooking-spoon,  quick!" 

She  nipped  the  egg  out  of  the  saucepan;  it  was 
already  several  seconds  overdone. 

"It  isn't  as  if  I  could  keep  you  on  as  a  char- 
woman," said  Rachel;  "I  must  have  some  one  all 
the  time,  and  I  couldn't  do  with  a  charwoman  as 
well." 

"No,  ma'm!     It's  like  as  if  what  must  be." 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  think  it  over.  I  must  say 
I  didn't  expect  this  from  you,  Mrs.  Tarns." 

Mrs.  Tarns  put  her  lips  together  and  bent  ob- 
stinately over  a  tray. 

Rachel  said  to  herself:  "Oh,  she  really  means  to 
leave!  I  can  see  that.  She's  made  up  her  mind. 
.  .  .  I  shall  never  trust  any  servant  again.    Never!" 

She  was  perhaps  a  little  hurt  (for  she  considered 
that  she  had  much  benefited  Mrs.  Tarns),  and  a 
little  perturbed  for  the  future.     But  in  her  heart  she 

416 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

did  not  care.  She  would  not  have  cared  if  the 
house  had  fallen  in,  or  if  her  native  land  had  been 
invaded  and  enslaved  by  a  foreign  army.  She  was 
at  peace  with  Louis.  He  was  hers.  She  felt  that 
her  lien  on  him  was  strengthened. 


ii 

The  breakfast  steaming  and  odorous  on  the 
table,  and  Rachel  all  tingling  in  front  of  her  tray, 
awaited  the  descent  of  the  master  of  the  house. 
The  Sunday  morning  post,  placed  in  its  proper 
position  by  Mrs.  Tarns,  consisted  of  a  letter  and  a 
post-card.  Rachel  stretched  her  arm  across  the 
table  to  examine  them.  The  former  had  a  legal 
aspect.  It  was  a  foolscap  envelope  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Maldon.  Rachel  opened  it.  A  typewritten 
circular  within  respectfully  pointed  out  to  Mrs. 
Maldon  that  if  she  had  only  followed  the  writers' 
advice,  given  gratis  a  few  weeks  earlier,  she  would 
have  made  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds 
net  profit  by  spending  thirty-five  pounds  in  the 
purchase  of  an  option  on  Canadian  Pacific  Railway 
shares.  The  statement  was  supported  by  the  offi- 
cial figures  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  which  none 
could  question.  "Can  you  afford  to  neglect  such 
advice  in  future  ?"  the  writers  asked  Mrs.  Maldon, 
and  went  on  to  suggest  that  she  should  send  them 
forty-five  pounds  to  buy  an  option  on  " Shells," 
which  were  guaranteed  to  rise  nine  points  in  less 
than  a  month. 

Mystified,  half  skeptical,  and  half  credulous, 
Rachel  reflected  casually  that  the  world  was  full  of 
strange  phenomena.  She  wondered  what  "Shells" 
27  417 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

were,  and  why  the  writers  should  keep  on  writing 
to  a  woman  who  had  been  dead  for  ages.  She  care- 
fully burnt  both  the  circular  and  the  envelope. 

And  then  she  looked  at  the  post-card,  which  was 
addressed  to  "Louis  Fores,  Esq."  As  it  was  a  post- 
card, she  was  entitled  to  read  it.  She  read:  "Shall 
expect  you  at  the  works  in  the  morning  at  ten.  Jas. 
Horrocleave."  She  thought  it  rather  harsh  and  op- 
pressive on  the  part  of  Mr.  Horrocleave  to  expect 
Louis  to  attend  at  the  works  on  Bank  Holiday — and 
so  soon  after  his  illness,  too!  How  did  Mr.  Horro- 
cleave know  that  Louis  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
be  able  to  go  to  the  works  at  all? 

Louis  came,  rubbing  his  hands,  which  for  an  in- 
stant he  warmed  at  the  fire.  He  was  elegantly 
dressed.  The  mere  sight  of  him  somehow  thrilled 
Rachel.  His  deportment,  his  politeness,  his  charm- 
ing good  nature  were  as  striking  as  ever.  The  one 
or  two  stripes  (flesh-colored  now,  not  whitish)  on  his 
face  were  not  too  obvious,  and,  indeed,  rather  in- 
creased the  interest  of  his  features.  The  horrible 
week  was  forgotten,  erased  from  history,  though 
Rachel  would  recollect  that  even  at  the  worst  crisis 
of  it  Louis  had  scarcely  once  failed  in  politeness  of 
speech.  It  was  she  who  had  been  impolite — not 
once,  but  often.  Louis  had  never  raged.  She  was 
contrite,  and  her  penitence  intensified  her  desire  to 
please,  to  solace,  to  obey.  When  she  realized  that 
it  was  she  who  had  burnt  that  enormous  sum  in 
bank-notes,  she  went  cold  in  the  spine. 

Not  that  she  cared  twopence  for  the  enormous 
sum,  really,  now  that  concord  was  established !  No, 
her  little  flutters  of  honest  remorse  were  constantly 
disappearing  in  the  immense  exultant  joy  of  being 

418 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

alive  and  of  contemplating  her  idol.  Louis  sat  down. 
She  smiled  at  him.  He  smiled  back.  But  in  his 
exquisite  demeanor  there  was  a  faint  reserve  of 
melancholy  which  persisted.  She  had  not  yet  that 
morning  been  able  to  put  it  to  flight;  she  counted, 
however,  on  doing  so  very  soon,  and  in  the  mean  time 
it  did  not  daunt  her.     After  all,  was  it  not  natural? 

She  began: 

"I  say,  what  do  you  think?  Mrs.  Tarns  has  given 
me  notice.' ' 

She  pretended  to  be  aggrieved  and  to  be  worried, 
but  essential  joy  shone  through  these  absurd  masks. 
Moreover,  she  found  a  certain  naive  satisfaction  in 
being  a  mistress  with  cares,  a  mistress  to  whom 
" notice' '  had  to  be  given,  and  who  would  have  to 
make  serious  inquiry  into  the  character  of  future 
candidates  for  her  employment. 

Louis  raised  his  eyebrows. 

" Don't  you  think  it's  a  shame?" 

"Oh,"  said  he,  cautiously,  "you'll  get  somebody 
else  as  good,  and  better.     What's  she  leaving  for?" 

Rachel  repeated  Mrs.  Tams's  rigmarole. 

"Ah!"  murmured  Louis. 

He  was  rather  sorry  for  Mrs.  Tarns.  His  good 
nature  was  active  enough  that  morning.  But  he 
was  glad  that  she  had  taken  the  initiative.  And  he 
was  content  that  she  should  go.  After  the  scene  of 
the  previous  night,  their  relations  could  not  again 
have  been  exactly  what  the  relations  between  master 
and  servant  ought  to  be.  And  further,  "you  never 
knew  what  women  wouldn't  tell  one  another,"  even 
mistress  and  maid,  maid  and  mistress.  Yes,  he  pre- 
ferred that  she  should  leave.  He  admired  her  and 
regretted  the  hardship  on  the  old  woman — and  that 

419 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

was  an  end  of  it!  What  could  he  do  to  ease  her? 
The  only  thing  to  do  would  be  to  tell  her  privately 
that  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  she  might  stay. 
But  he  had  no  intention  of  doing  aught  so  foolish. 
It  was  strange,  but  he  was  entirely  unconscious  of 
any  obligation  to  her  for  the  immense  service  she 
had  rendered  him.  His  conclusion  was  that  some 
people  have  to  be  martyrs.  And  in  this  he  was 
deeply  right. 

Rachel,  misreading  his  expression,  thought  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  be  bothered  with  household  details. 
She  recalled  some  gratuitous  advice  half  humorous- 
ly offered  to  her  by  a  middle-aged  lady  at  her  recep- 
tion, "Never  talk  servants  to  your  men."  She  had 
thought,  at  the  time,  "I  shall  talk  everything  with 
my  husband."  But  she  considered  that  she  was 
wiser  now. 

"By  the  way,"  she  said,  in  a  new  tone,  "there's 
a  post-card  for  you.     I've  read  it.     Couldn't  help." 

Louis  read  the  post-card.  He  paled,  and  Rachel 
noticed  his  pallor.  The  fact  was  that  in  his  mind 
he  had  simply  shelved,  and  shelved  again,  the  threat 
of  James  Horrocleave.  He  had  sincerely  desired  to 
tell  a  large  portion  of  the  truth  to  Rachel,  taking 
advantage  of  her  soft  mood;  but  he  could  not;  he 
could  not  force  his  mouth  to  open  on  the  subject. 
In  some  hours  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  danger — 
he  was  capable  of  such  feats — then  it  reasserted 
itself  and  he  gazed  at  it,  fascinated  and  helpless. 
When  Rachel,  to  please  him  and  prove  her  subju- 
gation, had  suggested  that  they  should  go  to  church — 
"for  the  Easter  morning  service" — he  had  concurred, 
knowing,  nevertheless,  that  he  dared  not  fail  to  meet 
Horrocleave  at  the  works.     On  the  whole,  though 

420 


RACHEL   AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

it  gave  him  a  shock,  he  was  relieved  that  Horrocleave 
had  sent  the  post-card  and  that  Rachel  had  seen  it. 
But  he  still  was  quite  unable  to  decide  what  to  do. 

"It's  a  nice  thing,  him  asking  you  to  go  to  the 
works  on  a  Bank  Holiday  like  that  I"  Rachel  remarked. 

Louis  answered:  "It's  not  to-morrow  he  wants  me. 
It's  to-day." 

"Sunday?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  I  met  him  for  a  second  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  he  told  me  then.  This  was  just  a  re- 
minder. He  must  have  sent  it  off  last  night.  A  good 
thing  he  did  send  it,  though.     I'd  quite  forgotten." 

"But  what  is  it?  What  does  he  want  you  to  go 
on  Sunday  for?" 

Louis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  intimate  that 
nothing  that  Horrocleave  did  ought  to  surprise  any- 
body. 

"Then  what  about  church?" 

Louis  replied  on  the  spur  of  the  moment: 

"You  go  there  by  yourself.  I'll  meet  you  there. 
I  can  easily  be  there  by  eleven." 

"But  I  don't  know  the  pew." 

"They'll  show  you  your  pew,  all  right,  never  fear." 

"I  shall  wait  for  you  in  the  churchyard." 

"Very  well.     So  long  as  it  isn't  raining." 

She  kissed  him  fervently  when  he  departed. 

Long  before  it  was  time  to  leave  for  church,  she 
had  a  practical  and  beautiful  idea — one  of  those 
ideas  that  occur  to  young  women  in  love.  Instead 
of  waiting  for  Louis  in  the  churchyard  she  would 
call  for  him  at  the  works,  which  was  not  fifty  yards 
off  the  direct  route  to  St.  Luke's.  By  this  means 
she  would  save  herself  from  the  possibility  of  in- 
convenience within  the  precincts  of  the  church,  and 

421 


THE    PRICE   OF   LOVE 

she  would  also  prevent  the  conscienceless  Mr. 
Horrocleave  from  keeping  Louis  in  the  office  all  the 
morning.  She  wondered  that  the  idea  had  not 
occurred  to  Louis,  who  was  very  gifted  in  such 
matters  as  the  arrangement  of  rendezvous. 

She  started  in  good  time  because  she  wanted  to 
walk  without  hurry,  and  to  ponder.  The  morning, 
though  imperfect  and  sunless,  had  in  it  some  quality 
of  the  spring,  which  the  buoyant  youth  of  Rachel 
instantly  discovered  and  tasted  in  triumph.  More- 
over, the  spirit  of  a  festival  was  abroad,  and  visible 
in  the  costume  and  faces  of  passers-by;  and  it  was 
the  first  festival  of  the  year.  Rachel  responded  to 
it  eagerly,  mingling  her  happiness  with  the  general 
exultation.  She  was  intensely,  unreasonably  happy. 
She  knew  that  she  was  unreasonably  happy;  and  she 
did  not  mind. 

When  she  turned  into  Friendly  Street  the  big 
black  double  gates  of  the  works  were  shut,  but  in  one 
of  them  a  little  door  stood  ajar.  She  pushed  it, 
stooped,  and  entered  the  twilight  of  the  archway. 
The  office  door  was  shut.  She  walked  uncertain  up 
the  archway  and  into  the  yard,  and  through  a  dirty 
window  on  her  left  she  could  dimly  discern  a  man 
gesticulating.  She  decided  that  he  must  be  Horro- 
cleave. She  hesitated,  and  then,  slightly  confused, 
thought,  "Perhaps  I'd  better  go  back  to  the  archway 
and  knock  at  the  office  door." 


in 

In  the  inner  office,  among  art-luster  ware,  ink- 
stained  wood,  dusty  papers,  and  dirt,  Jim  Horro- 
cleave banged  down  a  petty-cash  book  on  to  Louis' 

422 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

desk.  His  hat  was  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his 
eyes  blazed  at  Louis,  who  stood  somewhat  limply, 
with  a  hesitant,  foolish,  faint  smile  on  his  face. 

4 'That's  enough !"  said  Horrocleave,  fiercely.  "I 
haven't  had  patience  to  go  all  through  it.  But 
that's  enough.  I  needn't  tell  ye  I  suspected  ye  last 
year,  but  ye  put  me  off.  And  I  was  too  busy  to 
take  the  trouble  to  go  into  it.  However,  I've  had  a 
fair  chance  while  you've  been  away."  He  gave  a 
sneering  laugh.  "I'll  tell  ye  what  put  me  on  to  ye 
again,  if  you've  a  mind  to  know.  The  weekly  ex- 
penses went  down  as  soon  as  ye  thought  I  had  sus- 
picions. Ye  weren't  clever  enough  to  keep  'em  up. 
Well,  what  have  ye  got  to  say  for  yeself,  seeing  ye 
aren't  on  yer  way  to  America?" 

"I  never  meant  to  go  to  America,"  said  Louis. 
"Why  should  I  go  to  America?" 

"Ask  me  another.     Then  ye  confess?" 

"I  don't,"  said  Louis. 

"Oh!  Ye  don't!"  Horrocleave  sat  down  and 
put  his  hands  on  his  outstretched  knees. 

"There  may  be  mistakes  in  the  petty-cash  book. 
I  don't  say  there  aren't.  Anyone  who  keeps  a 
petty-cash  book  stands  to  lose.  If  he's  too  busy  at 
the  moment  to  enter  up  a  payment,  he  may  forget 
it — and  there  you  are!  He's  out  of  pocket.  Of 
course,"  Louis  added,  with  a  certain  loftiness,  "as 
you're  making  a  fuss  about  it  I'll  pay  up  for  any- 
thing that's  wrong  .  .  .  whatever  the  sum  is.  If 
you  make  it  out  to  be  a  hundred  pounds  I'll  pay 
up." 

Horrocleave  growled:  "Oh  so  ye '11  pay  up,  will  ye? 
And  suppose  I  won't  let  ye  pay  up  ?  What  shall  ye 
do  then?" 

423 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

Louis,  now  quite  convinced  that  Horrocleave  was 
only  bullying,  retorted,  calmly : 

"It's  I  that  ought  to  ask  you  that  question/ ' 

The  accuser  was  exasperated. 

"A  couple  o'  years  in  quod  will  be  about  your 
mark,  I'm  thinking,' '  he  said. 

Whereupon  Louis  was  suddenly  inspired  to  an- 
swer: "Yes.  And  supposing  I  was  to  begin  to  talk 
about  illicit  commissions  ?" 

Horrocleave  jumped  up  with  such  ferocious  vio- 
lence that  Louis  drew  back,  startled.  The  recent 
Act  of  Parliament,  making  a  crime  of  secret  com- 
missions to  customers'  employees,  had  been  a  blow 
to  the  trade  in  art-luster  ware,  and  it  was  no  secret 
in  the  inner  office  that  Horrocleave,  resenting  its 
interference  with  the  natural  course  of  business,  had 
more  than  once  discreetly  flouted  it,  and  thus 
"technically"  transgressed  the  criminal  law.  Horro- 
cleave used  to  defend  and  justify  himself  by  the  use 
of  that  word  "technical."  Louis'  polite  and  un- 
premeditated threat  enraged  him  to  an  extreme 
degree.  He  was  the  savage  infuriate.  He  cared  for 
no  consequences,  even  consequences  to  himself. 
He  hated  Louis  because  Louis  was  spick  and  span, 
and  quiet,  and  because  Louis  had  been  palmed  off 
on  him  by  Louis'  unscrupulous  respectable  relatives 
as  an  honest  man. 

"Now  thou'st  done  for  thyself!"  he  cried,  in  the 
dialect.  "Thou'st  done  for  thyself!  And  I'll  have 
thee  by  the  heels  for  embezzlement,  and  blackmail 
as  well."  He  waved  his  arms.  "May  God  strike 
me  if  I  give  thee  any  quarter  after  that!     I'll — " 

He  stopped  with  open  mouth,  disturbed  by  the 
perception  of  a  highly  strange  phenomenon  beyond 

424 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

the  window.  He  looked  and  saw  Rachel  in  the 
yard.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that  Louis  had 
planned  to  use  his  wife  as  a  shield  in  the  affair  if  the 
worst  should  come  to  the  worst.  But  Rachel's 
appearance  simultaneously  showed  him  that  he  was 
wrong.  She  was  the  very  mirror  of  happy  con- 
fidence. And  she  seemed  so  young,  and  so  obviously 
just  married;  and  so  girlish  and  so  womanish  at  the 
same  time;  and  her  frock  was  so  fresh,  and  her  hat 
so  pert  against  the  heavy  disorder  of  the  yard,  and 
her  eyes  were  unconsciously  so  wistful — that  Horro- 
cleave  caught  his  breath.  He  contrasted  Rachel 
with  Mrs.  Horrocleave,  her  complete  antithesis,  and 
at  once  felt  very  sorry  for  himself  and  very  scornful 
of  Mrs.  Horrocleave,  and  melting  with  worshipful 
sympathy  for  Rachel. 

"Yer  wife's  in  the  yard,"  he  whispered  in  a 
different  tone. 

"My  wife!"  Louis  was  gravely  alarmed;  all  his 
manner  altered. 

"Hast  told  her  anything  of  this?" 

"I  should  think  I  hadn't." 

"Ye  must  pay  me,  and  I'll  give  ye  notice  to 
leave,"  said  Horrocleave,  quickly,  in  a  queer,  quiet 
voice.  The  wrath  was  driven  out  of  him.  The 
mere  apparition  of  Rachel  had  saved  her  hus- 
band. 

A  silence. 

Rachel  had  disappeared.  Then  there  was  a  dis- 
tant tapping.  Neither  of  the  men  spoke  nor  moved. 
They  could  hear  the  outer  door  open  and  light  foot- 
falls in  the  outer  office. 

"Anybody  here?"     It  was  Rachel's  voice,  timid. 

"Come  in,  come  in!"  Horrocleave  roared. 
425 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

She  entered,  blushing,  excusing  herself,  glancing 
from  one  to  the  other,  and  by  her  spotless  Easter 
finery  emphasizing  the  squalor  of  the  den. 

In  a  few  minutes  Horrocleave  was  saying  to 
Rachel,  rather  apologetically: 

1 '  Louis  and  I  are  going  to  part  company,  Mrs. 
Fores.  I  can't  keep  him  on.  His  wages  are  too 
high  for  me.  It  won't  run  to  it.  Th'  truth  is,  I'm 
going  to  chuck  this  art  business.  It  doesn't  pay. 
Art,  as  they  call  it,  's  no  good  in  th'  pottery  trade." 

Rachel  said,  "So  that's  what  you  wanted  to  see 
him  about  on  a  Sunday  morning,  is  it,  Mr.  Horro- 
cleave?" 

She  was  a  little  hurt  at  the  slight  on  her  husband, 
but  the  wife  in  her  was  persuaded  that  the  loss  would 
be  Mr.  Horrocleave's.  She  foresaw  that  Louis  would 
now  want  to  use  his  capital  in  some  commercial 
undertaking  of  his  own;  and  she  was  afraid  of  the 
prospect.  Still,  it  had  to  be  faced,  and  she  would 
face  it.  He  would  probably  do  well  as  his  own 
master.  During  a  whole  horrible  week  her  judgment 
on  him  had  been  unjustly  severe,  and  she  did  not 
mean  to  fall  into  the  same  sin  again.  She  thought 
with  respect  of  his  artistic  gifts,  which  she  was  too 
inartistic  to  appreciate.  Yes,  the  chances  were 
that  he  would  succeed  admirably. 

She  walked  him  off  to  church,  giving  Hbrrocleave 
a  perfunctory  good-by.  And  as,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
they  descended  towards  St.  Luke's,  she  looked  side- 
ways at  Louis  and  fed  her  passion  stealthily  with 
the  sight.  True,  even  in  those  moments,  she  had 
heart  enough  left  to  think  of  others  besides. 

She  hoped  that  John's  Ernest  would  find  a  suitable 
mate.     She  remembered  that  she  had  Julian's  cur- 

426 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

tains  to  attend  to.  She  continued  to  think  kindly 
of  Thomas  Batchgrew,  and  she  chid  herself  for  hav- 
ing thought  of  him  in  her  distant  inexperienced 
youth,  of  six  months  earlier,  as  that  man.  And, 
regretting  that  Mrs.  Tarns — at  her  age,  too! — could 
be  so  foolish,  she  determined  to  look  after  Mrs. 
Tarns  also,  if  need  should  arise.  But  these  solicitudes 
were  mere  downy  trifles  floating  on  the  surface  of  her 
profound  absorption  in  Louis.  And  in  the  depths 
of  that  absorption  she  felt  secure,  and  her  courage 
laughed  at  the  menace  of  life  (though  the  notion  of 
braving  a  church  full  of  people  did  intimidate  the 
bride).  Yet  she  judged  Louis  realistically  and  not 
sentimentally.  She  was  not  conspicuously  blind  to 
any  aspect  of  his  character;  nor  had  the  tremen- 
dous revulsion  of  the  previous  night  transformed  him 
into  another  and  a  more  heavenly  being  for  her. 
She  admitted  frankly  to  herself  that  he  was  not 
blameless  in  the  dark  affair  of  the  bank-notes.  She 
would  not  deny  that  in  some  ways  he  was  untrust- 
worthy, and  might  be  capable  of  acts  of  which  the 
consequences  were  usually  terrible.  His  irresponsi- 
bility was  notorious.  And,  being  impulsive  herself, 
she  had  no  mercy  for  his  impulsiveness.  As  for  his 
common  sense,  was  not  her  burning  of  the  circular 
addressed  to  Mrs.  Maldon  a  sufficient  commentary 
on  it? 

She  was  well  aware  that  Louis'  sins  of  omission 
and  commission  might  violently  shock  people  of  a 
certain  temperament — people  of  her  own  tempera- 
ment in  particular.  These  people,  however,  would 
fail  to  see  the  other  side  of  Louis.  If  she  herself  had 
merely  heard  of  Louis,  instead  of  knowing  him,  she 
would  probably  have  set  him  down  as  undesirable,  y 

427 


THE    PRICE    OF    LOVE 

But  she  knew  him.  His  good  qualities  seemed  to 
her  to  overwhelm  the  others.  His  charm,  his  ele- 
gance, his  affectionateness,  his  nice  speech,  his 
courtesy,  his  quick  wit,  his  worldliness — she  really 
considered  it  extraordinary  that  a  plain,  blunt  girl, 
such  as  she,  should  have  had  the  luck  to  please  him. 
It  was  indeed  almost  miraculous. 

If  he  had  faults — and  he  had — she  preferred  them  ) 
(proudly  and  passionately)  to  the  faults  of  scores 
of  other  women's  husbands.  He  was  not  a  brute, 
nor  even  a  boor  nor  a  savage — thousands  of  savages 
ranged  free  and  terror-striking  in  the  Five  Towns. 
Even  when  vexed  and  furious  he  could  control  him- 
self. It  was  possible  to  share  his  daily  life  and  see 
him  in  all  his  social  moods  without  being  humiliated. 
He  was  not  a  clodhopper;  watch  him  from  the  bow- 
window  of  a  morning  as  he  walked  down  the  street! 
He  did  not  drink;  he  was  not  a  beast.  He  was  not 
mean.  He  might  scatter  money,  but  he  was  not 
mean.  In  fact,  except  that  one  sinister  streak  in 
his  nature,  she  could  detect  no  fault.  There  was 
danger  in  that  streak.  .  .  .  Well,  there  was  danger  in 
every  man.  She  would  accept  it;  she  would  watch 
it.  Had  she  not  long  since  reconciled  herself  to  the 
prospect  of  an  everlasting  vigil? 

She  did  not  care  what  anyone  said,  and  she  did 
not  care!  He  was  the  man  she  wanted;  the  whole 
rest  of  the  world  was  nothing  in  comparison  to  him. 
He  was  irresistible.  She  had  wanted  him,  and  she 
would  always  want  him,  as  he  was.  She  had  won 
him  and  she  would  keep  him,  as  he  was,  whatever 
the  future  might  hold.  The  past  was  the  past;  the 
opening  chapter  of  her  marriage  was  definitely  fin- 
ished and  its  drama  done.     She  was  ready  for  the 

428 


RACHEL    AND    MR.    HORROCLEAVE 

future.  One  tragedy  alone  could  overthrow  her — 
Louis'  death.  She  simply  could  not  and  would  not 
conceive  existence  without  him.  She  would  face 
anything  but  that.  .  .  .  Besides,  he  was  not  really 
untrustworthy — only  weak!  She  faltered  and  re- 
covered. "He's  mine  and  I  wouldn't  have  him 
altered  for  the  world.  I  don't  want  him  perfect. 
If  anything  goes  wrong,  well,  let  it  go  wrong!  I'm 
his  wife.  I'm  his!"  And  as,  slightly  raising  her 
confident  chin  in  the  street,  she  thus  undertook  to 
pay  the  price  of  love,  there  was  something  divine 
about  Rachel's  face. 


THE    END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  50  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


FEB  231935 


JUN  25 1935 
AUG    7    1945 


YB  59374 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


'Mi 


HII 


llllllli. 


mm 


